


Pomegranates & Chainsaws

by PersephoneUnbound



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Anger Management, Attempted Abortion, Basically a lot of messed up things, Bipolar Disorder, Blood and Gore, Borderline Personality Disorder, Breeding, Bullying of a mentally impaired man, Cannibalism, Don't worry, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Dyslexia, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femme Fatale, Forced Marriage, Gore, I wanna see how weird I get, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Impregnation, Kidnapping, Killing, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mention of Necrophilia, Necrophilia, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Passive-aggression, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Play, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Somewhat femme fatale, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, The vomiting thing is not a fetish thing tho, Torture, Vomiting, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneUnbound/pseuds/PersephoneUnbound
Summary: "Gradually, he thought, he'd introduce the night,first as the shadows of fluttering leaves.Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.Let Persephone get used to it slowly.In the end, he thought, she'd find it comforting.A replica of earthexcept there was love here.Doesn't everyone want love?"- A Myth of DevotionThomas Hewitt gets fucked up and possessive while in the dark. Unfortunately, you were brought along with him.Dark! Leatherface/Thomas Hewitt x Reader





	1. Hades Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: 
> 
> Hello! This is actually my very first horror fanfic, being so used to writing other genres, I decided to give this one a try!  
> I was on Netflix and decided to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning and just was instantly hooked on the movie, especially with Thomas Hewitt. So why not honor that weird crush by writing a fanfic about him comparing him to Hades?  
> Usually, I give warnings in the notes for explicit material but since this is in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre trope, we're all use to gore and horror and such.  
> So enjoy!

**_Chapter One:_ **

**_Hades's Arrival_ **

  
  
  
  


* * *

****

  
  
  


_ A soft light rising above the level meadow, _ __  
_ behind the bed. He takes her in his arms. _ __  
_ He wants to say “I love you, nothing can hurt you” _ __  
__  
_ but he thinks _ __  
_ this is a lie, so he says in the end _ __  
_ “you're dead, nothing can hurt you” _ __  
_ which seems to him _ _  
_ __ a more promising beginning, more true.

 

_ -"A Myth of Devotion" from Averno by Louise Glück _

  
  


* * *

__

 

**_June 12, 1969_ **

  
  


The police radio crackled, before sputtering out jagged voices; their words gargling together as if spewed by a mad man. 

 

_ “this Officer Knowles….187….multiple….suspects resisting….send back up….” _

 

_ “901h...officer down...suspect had a chainsaw…” _

 

_ “10-15...suspect resisting arrest…” _

 

_ “Tranquilized...will be en route to the asylum….send more guards…” _

  
  
  


* * *

__

  
  


**_August 3, 1950_ **

  
  
  
  
  


“Do you know anything about Greek Mythology?” (Y/N) grandmother spoke, never letting her eyes wander from the wilting orchid in front of her. The seeds were bad this year. 

 

(Y/N) glance up from the toys she had scattered in front of her, a confused little moue playing upon her lips. 

 

Her Grandmother rarely spoke after her Grandfather's death, choosing instead to let herself wither away in her rocking chair, staring at whatever stood in front of her with an indifferent gaze; be it a object or human, she didn't bother to show much interest on her countenance. She talked with as much enthusiasm as her facial expression, which was limited.

 

Except now. After an hour of (Y/N) being placed in her supervision as her mother ran off to gather groceries and the mail she forgot to pick up earlier, (Y/N) finally heard something other than a clipped response from the matriarch of the family. Her curiosity was undoubtedly peaked.

 

“No….what is Greek Mythlogic?” 

 

“Greek  _ Mythology”  _ her Grandmother corrected patiently, “and I'm not surprised you don't know, your father is as studious as headcheese and your mother let herself get dumber over the years in sacrifice for a marriage” 

 

Her fingers, gnarled and spotted with liver spots, poked out from the piles of blankets wrapped around her and placed it on the armchair; her untrimmed fingernail tapping a steady beat upon the worn wooden flesh. her countenance becoming more creased as she frowned to herself. 

 

“I use to read Greek Mythology to your mother when she was younger,” she went on, “and my grandfather did the same for me, I remember all of them so well, but I always beg to hear the one about Hades and Persephone over and over”

 

“What's it about?” (Y/N) couldn't help but questioned, her toys now forgotten as she turned to face the older woman fully. 

 

“Hades was the God of the Underworld,” (Y/N) Grandmother explained, “He collected the souls and lived with the dead, locked away in a place that offered no light nor comfort for centuries, He became so silent and lonely, wanting to be able to feel anything because the cold, nebulous state he was in….” 

 

She paused, glancing down at her raptured granddaughter and scrutinizing her expression before going on, “One day, he couldn't stand the solitude anymore and began to watch the mortal world instead, wanting to see how others live… which led him to see Persephone… she was so beautiful, glowing with the loveliness of the Earth; her curls laced with flowers and her skin enlightened with moonblood… she was everything that was attach to Life and Light, something Hades never had the chance to have...he become so enchanted by her, that one day, he stole Persephone away and brought her to the Underworld with him”

 

“He  _ kidnapped  _ her?” (Y/N) whispered, leaning forward in anticipation.

 

“He kidnapped her,” (Y/N) grandmother confirmed, “he wanted her all to himself, to bring some of her light to his darkness…even if it was against her consent...But Persephone was more clever than they ever gave her credit for...they expected her to scream and cry; to throw a fit at being held hostage...but instead, she worked it to her advantage...she told him she would be his wife, she would gladly eat the pomegranate offered to her...if she can become Queen of The Underworld, to be his equal and rule over the wasteland...even when she returned back to Earth for her mother's sake, she would forever have her throne...she promised to love him as long as she had her power...and he did” 

 

Blinking her eyes slightly, she gave a small scoff at the confused gaze upon her granddaughter's countenance, “you must be wondering why I'm telling you this Darling...it was the same thing I told your mother….you were unfortunately born as a woman, and they'll be a time where you be ridiculed and put down by men, who will try and control you….there will be nothing you can do to change this, your rights will forever be limited, but the best thing you can do is take advantage of that situation….use your wits to get around them, give up your pride and your dignity if you have to, but be  _ cunning  _ at least...do what you have to do to  _ survive _ …..”

 

“You'll have to eat the pomegranates one day Dear,” her grandmother concluded as she turned to look at the dying lights, “we all had to at one point in our lives...I just hope you can work it to your advantage”

 

“Never,” (Y/N) whispered, stubborn even at a early age, “I never eat the fruit”

 

Her grandmother said nothing at this. Her silence was an answer enough. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**June 12, 1969**

**Houston, Texas**

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Miss (L/N)?”

 

(Y/N) glance upwards from the files before her to see Dr. Sawyer staring back at her with a grim expression; his baby-blue eyes solemn and heavier than she seen them ever be. 

 

“Yes sir?” She questioned, standing from her cluttered desk and stepping away from it, tucking a loose stray of (H/C) strand that escaped her tight bun behind her ear. 

 

“Walk with me please,” he commanded as he pivoted upon his heels and made way out her office; causing her to stumble to catch up. 

 

Already, her curiosity was peaked. Dr. Sawyer often kept to himself, especially around her. He never spoke aloud about it, but she can tell he disproved of having her here; his chauvinistic upbringing making him unable to accept a woman into his office. Even with her schooling and Master degree in Criminal Psychology, he still frowned whenever she entered the building, but was smart enough to say nothing. 

 

Speaking to her directly like this meant what he wish to say was highly important. That, or he finally found a way to fire her without being labelled a sexist. 

 

“Have you been following the newspaper?” He asked as they rounded a corner, passing by several nurses who were struggling to subdue a patient; vomit drying on his robes, “about that chainsaw massacre?”

 

“out in Williamson County? I read a bit about it but never dived deeply into the details,” she responded, pressing her stack of papers tightly against her chest. 

 

“Apparently, they found about six corpses there, all hacked up like slaughter and made into stew,” he explained, his lips pulled back into a grimace, cutting her eyes to her to gauge her reaction. 

 

(Y/N) merely raised her brows at this. It wasn't as if she didn't find this gruesome, for she did. But she have treated many criminals with murderous tendencies, and a handful who participated in the acts of cannibalism. When she was in University and was sent to a local asylum as an intern, she had to help treat a man who ripped his mother apart and dined on her brain and liver; convinced that this would stave away the voices in his head. She vomited the first time he explained the details to her. 

 

“The family been murdering tourists and the like, and eating their body parts,” he went on, “they were apprehended soon after, after the Austin police force couldn't get a hold of the local sheriff” 

 

“Are they being sent here?” She questioned, the pieces beginning to fall in front of her as he nodded. 

 

“Yes, well, one of them is...the youngest by the name of Thomas Hewitt,” he muttered, “he is too mentally impaired to be incarcerated, so the court ordered him to be transferred to our facility until they can figure out what to do with him”

 

Halting in his pace, he turned to face her fully as he lifted his calloused fingers and ran it along his weak chin; his expression succumbing to dubious wariness as he continued on, “I know this is such short notice, not to mention you already backed up with other cases, but I would very much appreciate it if you took the Hewitt case as well….I'm too busy with the Myers one, and I believe someone as retarded as him would open up more under a woman observation”

 

A tick appeared high on (Y/N) cheek from his statement, but she wisely stayed silent. Heaving a weary sigh, she nodded slowly as she murmured, “I suppose I can take him on as a patient...when will his arrival be?”

 

There was a booming sound echoing at the end of the hallway, where the admission room resided. Followed by metal scrapping along the floorboards loudly over the muffled commands of the guards, another jarring sound roaring out that made (Y/N) cringe into herself reflexively. 

 

“It's funny you say that…” Dr. Sawyer replied, clearing his throat to gather her attention again, “since his arrival is now”

 

Raising her eyebrows at him, she turned back to the double doors before them as they were flung open; held apart by the struggling police men as they pushed the figure between through; their countenance strained with struggle. She soon realize why. 

 

The man before her, couldn't even be classified as a man. He towered over every single individual in the room, having to duck his head to avoid hitting the doorframe. His height was eerily enthralling, bringing forth the images of the everlasting skyscrapers she once saw while visiting New York. How she had to tilt her head back and saw them go up and up and up into the clouds; making her stomach clench in intimidation. 

 

Men she met that was close to his height were often lanky, clocking in usually the average weight of their caliber. Instead, he was absolutely  _ built;  _ every limb of his seeming to be packed with muscles. Despite the clothing they offer to the patients here run up to X-Large, the cotton was straining around his barrel-like chest, clutching onto his thick trapezoids for dear life. The sleeves were short, letting her see his biceps that were just hills of power; the veins pulsing angrily under his flesh. Perhaps from working in the fields, or the grime that was encrusted into him, but his flesh was a honey-hue brown; tanned from exposure in the Texas heat. 

 

They seem to find pajama bottoms that were thankfully in his size, the hems pressed against his hips and thick thighs before falling loosely around his shins; stopping short just above his bare feet. Even from the distance, she can see how large they were; seeming to hold a repressed power that can crack the skulls of anyone who dared lay beneath them. His ankles covered in several chains that were connected to the ones around his wrists, locking them tightly against each other so he couldn't lift his arms to scratch his face without threatening to trip. 

 

Gushing out a shaky breath she didn't know she was holding, (Y/N) tore her eyes away from the shackles that dripped off him and gaze up at his countenance; her lungs catching once more. 

 

Spirals of ebony-hued waves cascaded down his shoulders, matted with filth that made them hang limply around his squared jaw; seeming to be alive on their own at how they danced and swung under the fans scattered about. Yet, she couldn't give a description of his countenance, for his lower half was tucked under a surgical mask that the hospital provided for him. 

 

All she can see was his eyes, peeking out from the gnarled locks of his hair as if seeing through a curtain. They were hooded, undoubtedly from the tranquilizers and medication they gave him once he arrived, but she can still see how his irises were the darkest browns she came across; almost teetering on being called black. In them, swirled suppressed ire and oppression; wishing to burst out at the slightest provocation and slaughter them all as sacrifices. 

 

No, no she couldn't even call him a man. He was too menacing than that, too  _ powerful.  _

 

He was a beast. A brutish beast, waiting to devour them all. 

  
  
  


“That there is your new patient” Dr. Sawyer whispered as the guards lead the man forward, all six of them using their collective strength despite how he was chained up and drugged. Knowing he can easily turn and kill them all in an act of rage, at how tensely they held on him. 

 

“Thomas Hewitt” she murmured under her breath without realizing it, pressing herself against the wall behind her to make room for them.

 

His shoulders stiffened and Thomas swiftly turn his head at the call of his name; locking his eyes with hers as he momentarily halted in his steps.

 

He cocked his head as he never let his gaze waver, his breathing heavy behind his mask as he studied the woman before him. His pupils throbbing like dying stars. 

 

Soon enough, the guards tugged at his chains and he faced forward again; letting himself be lead to his room once more. His heavy footsteps causing the ground to tremble slightly.

 

(Y/N) shivered as she pressed the files tightly against her chest; his stare echoing before her every time she closed her eyes. Outside, the crows began to screech a melody. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


****

  
  
  



	2. And Thus, Persephone Spoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas meets his match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for everyone who commented and I haven't responded to yet. The site keeps crashing every time I try and deletes my response. If it doesn't show up or you get hella spam from me, I'm really sorry ;-;  
> If it still goes on, and I can't answer personally, then I answer in my notes the next chapter. Thank you for your support though!  
> On with the show!

**Chapter 2:**

**And Thus, Persephone Spoke**

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Patient Name: Thomas Brown Hewitt

Birth Date: Unknown, possibly 1939

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Black

Weight: 300 pounds

Height: 6'8

Status: Single

Noticeable traits: skin disease which left his lower half of his face disfigured, cleft lip.

Small puncture scar on right shoulder from screwdriver of last victim, diagonal scar on abdomen from an attack by a bull at the slaughterhouse, multiple scars on hands and arms from butchering. 

Patient IQ is unknown, likely suffering from mental retardation. Selective mute. 

Charges: five counts of first degree murder, one still pending. 

Was found in the perimeter of the murders, with several of the bodies cut up and stored for later consumption, wearing the flesh of one victim as a mask. Attacked an officer when apprehended but was quickly subdued with multiple tasers and tranquilizers. Several family members vouched for his mental retardation, saying he was told to, charges was lessen to be sent to an asylum until trial to test for insanity. 

Patient must be kept under chains at all time when handle, as well as medicated. Mixture of tranquilizers, Lithium, and Alprazolam until prescribed. Patients are often medicated with one but Thomas has been seen with heightened immune system and has to be given large doses to be stabilized. Possibly due to inbreeding. 

Possesses heightened strength and uncontrollable rage when provoked. Be cautious when near….”

 

Heaving a weary sigh, (Y/N) fell back in her seat as she finished with her new patient's file for the umpteenth time; running her fingers along her jawline in a tired expression. 

 

It was the day after the arrival of Thomas, and she was already exhausted. She had to spend the last few hours she had left reorganizing all her sessions to be able to squeeze him, while having to study the information they gather on him to keep herself studious by the time she can meet him. 

 

It was a cautionary trait she picked up during her first month here, where she was maimed and left with a facial scar by a patient during a session. 

 

She wish she can blame it entirely on him, but she was at fault as well. His name was Cole, a simple man in his late fifties who was found shrieking at the sky in his neighbor's backyard; wearing the remains of a wedding dress that was splattered with fecal matter. He was soon brought here, and assigned to her. She was given his file to report upon, but she chose instead to attend a last minute get together with her friends at a local bar, pushing away her responsibilities for the next morning. 

 

If she decided to study instead of drinking with Maria, she would've known Cole was a schizophrenic who became maniac when questioned about his mother. He was docile during his interview, sitting on the couch and commenting about how the crops were blooming beautifully this year. He was a shy, sweet thing, answering all her questions as truthfully as he can.

 

It was when she probbed about his childhood, simple saying 'how is your relationship with your mother?’ When he leapt across the coffee table at her; bringing her down upon the ground and crushing her throat between his hands. He promptly smashed her coffee cup and used the jagged handle to slice across her cheek before he was hauled off by the security guards; who barged in by her choked screaming. 

 

She was quickly attended to, being able to stop the bleeding before she lost too much. However, they couldn't do anything with the scar, for he cut too deep for it to be saved. From then on, she was left with the faint remains of his attack on her skin; a wobbly line running from the corner of her lips to halfway across her cheek that curled slightly downwards at the end. It healed enough for her to but a bit of foundation on it to cover it, but it still can be seen if one stood close to her. Cole was reassigned to Dr. Harper at the east wing of the asylum, where he hung himself with his bathrobe a few months later. (Y/N) stopped bringing coffee cups after that. 

 

She took notice she was tracing the scar absentmindedly and quickly dropped her hand back to her lap, blinking back to his Hewitt's file.

 

_ ‘he doesn't seem to have any triggers, but I'll have to ask anyways,’  _ she thought as she leaned back into her armchair,  _ ‘although being a selective mute won't help, Maybe I can make him write his answers out’ _

 

She already figured out the plan just mere hours before, after spending her breakfast mulling over what to do over her eggs and toast and listening to Dr. Jones pretentious yapping about counterculture and how it vaguely looped back to Freud theories. 

 

If Thomas was as slow as they claim (although she doubt this slightly, given how Texas backwoods aren't known for their inspirations to teach their pupils much of anything besides that colored people are bad and guns are good) and suffered from skin disease, chances are his self-esteem has become diminished by the age of nine, meaning he undoubtedly never had much confidence around others. That could explain the masks made of flesh, that he just wanted to be someone other than himself. 

 

Therefore, she needed to be gentle to him. Smile prettily, but not too big. Big smiles could be misinterpreted as cruel, mocking. Too small and he would think she was disgusted by him, and was being vaguely polite. Open her eyes slightly, let her eyebrows curl a bit so she seemed always vacantly concerned, or soft. Soft is what she needed to be, so she didn't startle him. Soft and womanly, with a touch of femininity here and there. She absolutely loathe playing to sexist standards of today, but she often like to flip it and used it as a weapon. Sometimes it'll help the patient underestimate her, other times it helped retract information for the police. 

 

Soft could help Thomas relax, maybe even make him talk to her. If nothing else, it would at least make her not seem like a threat. He already broke one of the guards ribs once he was brought here, and given how he outweigh her by pounds of muscle and height, she knew she stood no chance if he attacked. With that in mind, she quickly fished out her lipstick and applied it over her lips. 

 

_ ‘Beauty tames the mighty beast, and all that’ _ she thought in faint amusement as she reached upwards and pulled out her hair clip, letting her (H/C) soft hair fall to her shoulders just as there was a sharp knock at her door. 

 

“Come in” she called out gently as she stood to her feet, checking her reflection once more in the window to make sure her lipstick was applied properly before turning to face her guests. 

 

Involuntarily, her heart cluttered to her throat as she heard the familiar scrapping of chains against hardwood floor; her blood pumping thickly through her veins. Her warm smile never falter once.

 

Thomas Hewitt stood surrounded by five guards once more, three more than what was required of a patient. The beefiest of them all by the name of Joe, who was once a professional heavyweight boxer who took up security jobs after he blew out his knee and survived on a diet of briskets and white bread, seem like a dwarf compared to Hewitt; who would undoubtedly break Joe's knee once more by a vicious kick. 

 

“Heya Dr. (Y/N), goods to see ya again,” Joe say breezily over his grunts of effort as they pulled Thomas to the couch, attaching the chains to the anchors drilled into the floor beneath it, “how's life?”

 

“Been the same Joe, thank you for asking,” she replied easily, “and you?”

 

“Can't complain, got the engine working in my truck again since my lazy nephew got off his ass and fixed it,” he grunted, yanking on the chains one last time to make sure they were safely locked before pushing himself onto his feet, “I swear, that kid smokes more pot than he has brain cells, next thing you know he'll grow his hair like some kinda queer and hit the road to find himself”

 

Satisfied by his handiwork, Joe stepped back with the others and turned back to the giant, crossing his thick arms over his chest as he growled out, “Alright Hewitt, I'm gonna explain it slowly so you'll understand; you're gonna sit on this couch until the session is over, and keep your whole body inside the yellow square that is painted around your feet. You'll even take one step over the line, your ass is gonna be hauled off back to your cell so fast that you'll don't know whether to shit yourself or go blind. You'll say something cheeky to the Doc, or do anything that'll she doesn't like, we'll take you back to the yards and spray you down with the hose again,  _ understand _ ?” 

 

Thomas merely blinked up at him from his perch on the couch, his breathing heavy behind the surgical mask.

 

Joe tried once more, clenching his fists at his sides as he snarled, “I said,  _ do you understand?” _

 

“Joe, it's alright, I believe he understands” (Y/N) spoke up, slightly annoyed by the security guard act of bravado. Especially when Thomas was chained down too tightly to protect himself. 

 

The man in question scoffed and turned back to her, biting out, “don't believe it, kid might be ‘tarded, but don't let that fool you; he was found wearing the face of some man while eating the body of another as soup. When he was brought here, he broke Jim's ribs and was howling like a dog when we hit him with the batons to make him stop”

 

“I was informed of that incident, yes,” (Y/N) retorted smoothly, “thank you for your concern Joe, I greatly appreciate your bravery and would be happy to call you if I feel threatened”

 

Translation:  _ leave, you ego-stroking bastard, so I can do my job. I'll call you if I need you.  _

 

Joe, as thick in the head as he was in bodice, swelled under her cooing with a smug grin as he cut one last look at Thomas before gesturing at the others to follow him, “we'll be back in a hour for him, come on boys”

 

(Y/N) nodded at his words, waiting for them to exit the room before rolling her eyes and heaving an exaggerated sigh of disapproval, saying tiredly as he turned back to her patient, “sorry about them Mr. Hewitt, I don't really approve of them acting like that but you know how rowdy men get”

 

Thomas merely stared back at her with those piercing brown eyes, dark under the shadows that collected in his expression. 

 

Giving him one of her sweet smiles, she went on, “do you prefer if I call you Thomas or Mr. Hewitt? Or perhaps you have a nickname?”

 

He just stared. 

 

She expected nothing less.

 

“You don't have to talk if you don't wish to,” she said gently, “you can nod as an answer, is that fair?”

 

He didn't react. 

 

She nodded at this, leaning forward upon her armrest as she pressed her fingers into her cheek, silently scrutinizing him back. 

 

Even at the advantage of him sitting down, he was at eye-to-eye level with her; his thick fingers pressing into his knees. His shoulders were hunched as he slightly curled in himself; but only a fool with a blind eye couldn't see the absolute physical power he wield. He reminded her faintly of the paintings of Ares she use to study, where he was hunched over the blood-stained fields with his dripping sword by his side; his armor shiny with gore with crimson-stained teeth bared for the killing.

 

The thought much too gruesome to be kept, she quickly pushed it out of her mindset as she went back to studying him. 

 

“Thomas...I know you don't trust so easily,” she murmured softly, “I understand that, I know how people could be so cruel if you're even a bit different….so I'm not going to push you to do anything you don't wish to, but I want you to know that I'm here for you, that I only want to help”

 

Behind his surgical mask, she heard him take a sharp intake of breath, despite his blank stare never wavering. She cocked her head at this, wondering to herself if he really wasn't inept to understand her fully. 

 

Slowly, his chin dipped down to his chest before rising back to level again, his eyes shuttering close for a brief moment before reopening; fixing his steel stare back onto her.

 

It was a nod. She grinned widely at this, the corner of her scar concaving in to seem like a wobbly dimple to those who weren't paying attention. 

 

But Thomas was. 

 

“Do you wish for me to call you Mr. Hewitt?” She began, pressing her pen into her notebook. 

 

A shake of his head.

 

“Thomas?”

 

A nod.

 

Smiling pleasingly at this, she bend down and wrote his answer onto her paper; straightening up once more to keep eye contact with him.

 

“Thomas it is then,” she replied easily, “it's a wonderful name you know, it means gentle beauty...which seems to fit you greatly”

 

Flattery, just a little bit. Not too much, she didn't wish to lay it on too thick. A lot of people open up a bit more under compliments, raises their self-esteem just a tad. It was manipulation, yes, but the nice kind. 

 

He reeled back at her observation, his head jerking upwards as if an uppercut was delivered. Disbelief echoed in his eyes briefly, before he dropped his glare to his lap; his eyebrows furrowed as he clenched his hands into fists. 

 

Noticing his reaction, she cursed at herself silently before saying, “I'm sorry, did I offend you Thomas? I didn't...I really didn't mean to, I just thought…”

 

He jerked his countenance back to her as he yanked at his chains loudly, causing her to startle. Breathing heavily behind his muffled disguise, he raised his arm as far as it can go and curled all his fingers but the pointer one, gesturing upwards at himself. 

 

Realizing he was pointing at his deformities, she dipped his eyebrows low as she softened her expression, murmuring, “your face? Thomas, there's nothing wrong with having your illness you know, a lot of americans are afflicted with skin deformities or scars by accidents...if you wish to keep your mask on, that's fine, but I don't think you should consider yourself ugly for something you couldn't control”

 

His eyes narrowed vividly at her statement, as if believing she was lying.

 

That's what they always did. At the playground, in his classroom, at the slaughterhouse. They would always gather in little groups and snicker behind their hands at him. The girls pointed and laughed, or ran away from him howling about how he had diseases. The boys would shove him down and kick dirt into his face, ripping at his clothes while calling him an ugly retard. 

 

He recalled one incident, so long ago, but he remembered every detail of the memory due to its cruelty. 

 

It was in primary school, him barely entering ten, when the classroom was throwing a Valentine Day party. The classroom was buzzing with excitement, every kid twitching at the possibility of eating candy soon. The girls yammering on about who will get the most cards. 

 

Thomas was silent, sitting quietly at his desk in the back of the class and stared at the doodles in front of him. He never speak, and even if he did, he had nothing to say to them. He never got any cards or candies from anyone since the first year here, and he gave up hope so long ago. His Mama would get him a homemade card once he came home or, if they had a small bit of money, a chocolate bar. 

 

That was when he glanced up in surprise when a card came fluttering down onto his desk, seeing Mary Sue giving him a shy smile before darting off to her friends; giggling softly under her breath. 

 

Before he can comprehend what happened, Sally soon came forward and dropped a heart-shaped card in front of him as well; darting off as soon as it landed on his desk. As if on cue, several other girls and boys came forward and left him cards before promptly walking away. Several of them store-brand, others homemade. They kept coming until he had a pile in front of him, all from every classmate he had. 

 

Staring in disbelief at the items in front of him, he reached forward and gingerly press his fingertips to the closest one; his small chest rising and falling rapidly. 

 

Once all the students received their gifts, the teacher clapped her hands loudly and announce they can open their cards now or dine on their chocolates before turning to help Ricky on some pressing matter.

 

His classmates didn't immediately tear into their treats like the years before. Instead, they were all facing him with knowing smiles; eagerness present in their glistening eyes. 

 

Cautiously, he held the first card in his thin fingers, a store-bought one that had a silly little Cupid on the front that exclaim HAPPY VALENTINE'S, before opening it to see what they wrote.

 

**_FREAK_ **

 

Confused, he dropped that one and picked up the second card; a heart-shaped one that was a lush red. 

 

**_RETARD_ **

 

The corner of his eyes wet now, he reached for another.

 

**_UGLY BASTARD_ **

 

it was then, the class began to roar with laughter; bending at their waists and pointing gleefully at him.

 

_ “He actually fell for it!”  _  Susan shrieked, kicking her feet in the air cruelly. 

 

_ “The dumb retard actually thought we gave him presents!”  _ Mary Sue gasped, her pudgy face red with laughter. 

 

_ “What an idiot!” _

 

_ “An idiot FREAK!” _

 

_ “LIKE ANYONE WOULD LIKE A UGLY THING LIKE HIM!” _

 

Thomas didn't dare try to open the other cards, knowing what they held. Instead, he pushed himself from his desk quietly and walked to the door; his classmates squeals of laughter echoing behind him. 

 

His Mama began to homeschool him after that, and he soon joined them at the slaughterhouse.

 

“Thomas? Thomas!” 

 

Dr. (Y/N) was calling his name, but he couldn't hear her over the roaring of blood in his ears. How similar it sounded to children laughing. White-hot anger was crackling in him, making him tremble with it as his breathing became heavy.  The chains were rattling violently as he yanked at his arms, wishing to stand upwards and hurt those people who hurt him so long ago. He wanted to escape here and go get Mama and Charlie, to get his chainsaw and  _ make them pay.  _

 

“ _ Thomas, look!”  _

 

Through his rising fury, he glanced towards where the voice piped up and froze. 

 

Before him, Dr. (Y/N) was pulling her handkerchief from her cheek and gesturing at herself; her eyes wide and staring back at him cautiously. 

 

A scar, darkish-purple with age, spiderweb from the corner of her mouth to the middle of her cheek; ending in a jagged line that gave her a permanent frown. It did nothing to blur her beauty, but it was still gruesome on itself. 

 

Blushing slightly at his stare, she ducked her head as she muttered, “I know...not really pretty, but I don't mind it...matter of fact, I'm sort of proud of it...it lets me know that I was stronger than the thing that gave it to me…”

 

She knew this was crossing some sort of professional line, sharing such personal information with a patient. But she needed to find a way to calm him before it escalated too far. She didn't know if he can truly escape the heavy chains upon his person, but she knew it would cause him serious damage if he did. Joe would arrive before he can do anything to her, and they will take him to the yards to undoubtedly beat him senseless with their clubs. She didn't want that for him, not on his first day at least where they didn't realize what did and didn't make him tick.

 

Instead, she brushed away her foundation and let him look at her, utilizing her weakness as weapon. She even managed to blush under his heated gaze and glance up at him shyly beneath her eyelashes; her heart yammering away in her ribcage.

 

His eyes, the ire in them slowly melting into the cold stare he had before, flickered towards her expression and then to her scar; his snarling breathing dying down into a steady rhythm. Subconsciously, his arm raised to his own countenance as he studied her; as if wishing to compare those two. 

 

“We're two of a kind, you know?” She tried once more, her voice a gentle hum meant to soothe, “We've both overcome our own personal Hells, and have the scars to prove it...I'm here for you Thomas, okay? I'm here for you”

 

_ Here for you.  _

 

Those words of her, struck something in Thomas, As if someone plucked a cord inside his chest. He didn't know what was it, what it truly was, but it made him lean back on the couch and unclench his fists; his torso rising and falling slowly. 

 

She raised her fingers to her cheek and traced it along her scar, smiling comfortably over at him. 

 

“Would you like to start over?”

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Well fuck. Fuckity fuck fucker mcfucking  _ fuck. _

 

Despite many other things racing through his mind, this was often Hoyt’s default thought the moment the police has hustled him off to prison, Mama being left alone due to lack of evidence along with Monty, and Thomas was hauled off to God knows where. 

 

He knew his nephew wouldn't last long in jail, despite his muscular frame, so he and Mama had to beg for Thomas to be sent elsewhere due to his simple mind. The pig-fucking cop agreed to their pleas and agreed for him to be taken to an asylum instead, yet refusing to tell them where until his paperwork is pushed through.

 

Fucking cunt.

 

Hoyt couldn't find a loophole for himself, however, so he was escorted to the county jail until his trial or was bonded out. Shoved into some shit-smelling cell no bigger than a closet with a dickhead who seemed to be strung out on something. 

 

Not to mention, his jumpsuit smelled like asscrack and his mattress felt as thick as a cardboard. Jesus fucking Christ, only one day here and he was sure he was gonna go batshit insane.

 

Well. At least, more insane than he already was.

 

Heaving an irritated sigh, he rolled over on his bed and stared at the brick wall before him; ignoring his crackhead cellmate stammering to himself. 

 

He was undeniably screwed. They didn't even have two nickels to rub together, let alone bail him out. Mama was too fragile to be able to work, and Monty was a damn cripple. Thomas was locked up in another shit-hole, so they couldn't find a way to bust out together. The best he can do is just sit around on his ass and hope Mama was getting by while Thomas was somewhat safe. 

 

Hope was a stupid thing to have in a place like this, but the only thing to have as well. 

 

He barely twitched when a guard bang his baton against the metal bars while barking out, “Hewitt!”

 

“Hoyt” he replied easily, still resting on his side and glaring at the bricks. 

 

“Hewitt, Hoyt, whatever fucking name, your free phone call is up now” the guard grunted, giving a loud snort and hawking a loogie on the concrete carelessly; making the cellmate jump and babble on in a quicken pace.

 

Hoyt was tempted to roll over and tell the police officer where he can shove his free phone call, that he ain't got any one to call that'll have enough cash to get him out. He was about to go on and do that when he stopped, malicious realization dawning upon his countenance as he sat up from his bunk.

 

“Oh….why I do very much have someone I gotta call…” he simpered, leering at the officer before him with his broken teeth, “I just remembered I have some cousins in over yonder happy to come help me….”

 

“Nice to be able to have family members to come help bond you out,” the Officer said boredly as he opened the cell door for him.

 

“Sure, sure I'm pretty sure they'll find a way to get me out…” Hoyt laughed as he followed close behind; the drug addict chanting following after them. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> I'm sorry for the long note I'm about to show but I feel like I should clear it up before we delve further;  
> I know the reader comes off as basically manipulative, but that was sort of what I was going for. I wanted to give her a bit of a Gone Girl-esque personality, where she is actually quite intelligent and empathetic, having a degree in psychology and all. She's able to read people personalities quite quickly, and sometime would play up a persona if it helps her get what she needs. Usually, she uses this to get patients to behave or talk to her, so it's not overly malevolent.  
> And she'll use this later to help herself when things start to kick off ;)  
> This chapter is a bit soft and makes it seem like this would be your slasher love story. But trust me, it's far from that.  
> It's gonna be a story about obsession and trying to survive, with gore and slaughter thrown in the mix.  
> So hope y'all are ready for that!
> 
> Thank to everyone who commented, left hearts, or bookmarks. Y'all are the love of my lives!
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> P.S: Thomas doesn't truly mean great beauty but for the sake of the story, I changed it! Hope all y'all Thomas's don't mind!


	3. Chapter 3: I'm So Lonely, Won't you Hold Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas begins to realize things about (Y/N)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really much to say other than this chapter was finished in a bit of a rush, so if it comes out like that or there's errors, I apologize. I really don't have a beta so spelling and grammar errors galore!  
> But enjoy!

**Chapter 3: I'm So Lonely, Won't you Hold Me?**

 

* * *

  
  
  


“Have you guys seen the new patient that checked in a couple of days back?” Joe questioned one morning while he was on his lunch break, the fat slab of roast beef in front of him already half-gone. 

 

The guard across from him, a lanky thing of a man with too much reddish curls by the name of Steven, grunted through his sandwich in acknowledgement; raising his brows high in question. 

 

It was a slow day at the Houston Enlightenment Asylum, the medicated patients docile enough to be taken outside into the yards for outdoors activities to stretch a bit. Many of them playing with the tetherballs while others sprawled out in the warm sun-glow; digging their fingers into the grass and giggling gossip to one another. 

 

Several nurses and guards were sent on their lunch breaks early, the breakroom watching over the outside and out to the parking lot at the opposite of the wire fence. The room warm from the pulsing heat outside. 

 

“The uh...the big guy?” Steven finally spoke after swallowing his food, gesturing vaguely in the directions of the windows, “yeah, sure, I was the one who had to run around trying to find the right pajamas for him to wear” 

 

“ _ Big  _ is an understatement,” Helene, a nurse with waves of glossy ebony locks and cat-like eyes, snickered from the left of Steven, turning away from the flickering tv to gaze over at them, “The guy is built like a damn  _ tank _ ! And I should know, considering I had to deal with them when I was living in East Berlin”

 

“What the hell was his profession anyways, lifting boulders with his bare hands?” She went on as she cut her eyes towards the other nurse appropriately named Amy sitting across from her, “maybe playing the Jolly Green Giant on the canned food commercials?”

 

Amy, with her voluptuous breasts and winter-white blonde hair that would've got her typecast as the Dumb Slut Who Gets Hacked into Bits in a slasher movie (a fact clearly border on delusional, for she was studying viciously for a degree in Political Science and humbly held a 3.9 GPA) tilted her head and frowned back at the snorting woman before her as she spoke, “He worked in the slaughterhouse since he was a kid, so he undoubtedly had to lug around heavy pieces of meat and handle the cows when they were getting too rowdy, that kind of work usually gives you muscles”

 

“Not to mention he's from deep in the country,” she added as she glance back down at her salad and jabbed at a tomato, “I got a couple of cousins from there who spend all their time outdoors trying to out-perform each other, like 'who can pick up the heaviest barrels’ or ‘who can outrun an angry bull’”

 

“Smart cousins” Helene snickered. 

 

“Backwoods” Amy answered simply, shrugging her petite shoulders. 

 

“He ain't  _ that  _ big,” Joe spit sourly, tearing into his fork-full of roast beef with a vicious bite, “I fought guys more tough than him, and they all fold over like sissies...little shit stomps around here like he's the scariest thing in the world since Lucifer but trust me, one taste of pain and he'll go down crying”

 

“Oh yes Joe, that would explain why you needed backup  _ and  _ extra tranquilizers to get him to his cell,” Helene retorted, rolling her eyes at him, “Too bad he's ugly and slow, he would have looked like Marlon Brando if God was kind to him” 

 

“Doubt that'll stop him from trying to pursue Dr. (Y/N),” Steven spoke up once he swallowed his gulpful of soda, “you should've seen how lovestruck the man look when Rick and I was escorting him back to the Rec Room, like Cupid came around and smacked him across the face”

 

“Won't be the first time this happens,” he continued as he eyed the group before him, “remember when that gal who cries herself to sleep every night got this big old crush on Dr. Sawyer after a few sessions with him and she decided to give him a card that told him about how much she loved him in her own period blood? Still makes me gag just thinking about it”

 

“Ugh, thanks for reminding me about that asshole,” Joe blanched as he shoved his dish away from himself; losing his appetite over the vivid memory of the bloodied card he had to personally throw away for the therapist. 

 

Steven chortled as he stood on his feet, running a napkin over his greasy lips as he retorted, “Anyways, we should wrap up since we only got a few minutes left until we have to get the creeps inside and showered out the dirt they got on them”

 

“Yeah yeah yeah, hopefully we can finish this shift up without any trouble,”Joe grunted as he stood as well, chucking his leftovers in the trash, “I wanna get back home in time for the fight, I already placed about ten bucks on that Ali guy” 

 

“Only ten bucks? That guy coulda hauled you in an easy 100,” Steven laughed as he followed close behind his companion, leaving the two nurses alone at their table.

 

Helene rolled her eyes at the brutish men before twirling her cup of tea between her fingertips as she gazed back at the flickering tv screen. Amy cast her eyes out the window, squinting her eyes against the vivid slashes of light. 

 

Thomas stood under the shades of a large oak tree, seeming to almost blend into it if it wasn't for his bleached uniform. He stood still, with his arms dangling at his sides and his shoulders curled in slightly. Yet, his masked expression was turned upwards at the building, seeming to focus intently on one window as if wishing to catch the sight of something. 

 

_ ‘lonely,’  _ she thought as she turned back to her co-worker, ‘ _ lonely, on earth as it is in heaven’ _

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_ “STUPID CUNT!” _

 

“Now Mr. Krueger-” (Y/N) struggled to keep her voice even, despite the irritation beginning to flare up in her. 

 

“ _ FUCK YOU BITCH!”  _ he simply howled back, thrashing against his restraints once more.

 

She allowed a small sigh to slip from her lips as she pressed her fingertips against her pulsing temple; feeling the first blooms of a migraine residing there. 

 

She was usually a patient woman, being able to keep her emotions buried deep beneath her as she used logic to communicate. It was expected of her, given the professional field she worked in. 

 

It didn't mean she couldn't feel small bouts of annoyance here or there, even if she couldn't express it outright. Usually, when it came to difficult patients that did everything they can to make their existence a burden upon others. Like Mr. Krueger.

 

Frederick Krueger was arrested on the counts of stalking little girls and boys and trying to lure them into his basement, where police found stolen undergarments and skinned animal parts dressed in tutus. He was deemed with multiple personality disorder with psychotic episodes, and sent here to await his five year sentence. 

 

He was also the most hated. He insulted everyone in his path, broke tables and chairs during his fits, and physically attacked anyone who upset him. He was revoked his rec room and outside time to the point where he spend most of his time in his room; muttering to the walls while eating any insects that wander into his room. 

 

It seemed today he was in one of his worst moods, despite how often that seem to happen. He was brought to his session in a fuming silence, as if finished speaking in an vicious argument. He refused to greet her once seated on the couch, grinding his yellowed teeth and snarling at the floor below them. 

 

She, used to this behavior, just merely went on with her questions and scribbled down the visible reactions he gave when she did. By her fifth question, he was beginning to hiss low under his breath. At the eighth one, he lashed out at her; leaping forward and being yanked back by his restraints. 

 

This didn't seem to faze him as he just jerked and yanked at the chains, swiping his clawed hands through the air as he called (Y/N) every insult he can think of; his eyes bulging from his skull as drool dripped from his chin.  His rancid breaths puffing out at every shriek he threw at her. 

 

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she tried once more, “Mr. Krueger, please just-”

 

“ _ SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID LITTLE SHIT!”  _ He screamed as he burst forward towards her once more, falling back onto his seat with a frustrated shriek. 

 

Sighing to herself, she glanced over at the clock upon the wall and stood to her feet as she stated dryly, “your hour is up Mr. Krueger, good thing we managed to use it wisely” 

 

Her sarcasm didn't go uncheck by him, given how he renewed his efforts to get free of his bonds; foam bubbling at the ends of his mouth as he gobbled at the ceiling. 

 

_ ‘Patient Krueger was unwilling to answer any questions during session, possibly the start of another episode,’  _ she wrote easily on her notepad as the guards came to collect the fuming man, ‘ _ recommendations points to electroconvulsive therapy while upping his dosage of medication, will have to check in with his medical records to deem this as safe before proceeding’ _

 

The man in question calmed down a bit as the guards loosen him from the couch and pushed him towards the open doorway, with Dr. (Y/N) following close behind scribbling away in her notes. 

 

She followed after him so she can see if Dr. Carpenter was available to see if he can take her notes at this time, hoping to start Mr. Krueger treatment as early as they can. Hopefully, this will help him with erratic displays of anger and anxiety, or the very least keep him docile during their meetings. 

 

The guards had Mr. Krueger pinned against the wall to check his chains, for they were worn down a bit from his constant thrashing just as Thomas rounded the corner lead by several nurses to his daily shower allowance. 

 

For the several days he was here, he was proven to be well-behaved enough to not be followed by guards everywhere he went, although he still had to wear his restraints for precautions. The nurses would unlock him once they reach the bathing area and wait outside the room as he showered, handing him his newly-washed clothes before waiting to escort him out for dinner. 

 

Once entering the hallway, He spotted Dr. (Y/N) at the end of it with her eyes narrowed down at her files; a look of concentration upon her countenance as she worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. 

 

Seeing the plump flesh gleaming with her spit and turning a sultry red under her gentle bites made something coil in Thomas; a weary heat that crackle along the bottom of his spine and spurting down to his knees. The swell of his cheeks felt unnaturally warm, causing him to curl into himself tighter. 

 

All of them so distracted with their tasks, none took one notice of Krueger for he has quiet down into eerie silence; seeming to have calm down on his own. 

 

That's when he struck. 

 

As he felt them loosen the chains around his wrists, he bit down upon his tongue until blood pooled between his snarling teeth; slamming his elbow into Rick's stomach while launching himself forward at the distracted psychiatrist. 

 

A shocked scream escaped (Y/N) as she felt talon-like nails dig into her scalp as Krueger twisted his fingers into her hair; slamming her into the wall behind them. 

 

Her eyes rolled upwards at the wheezing man before her, his weathered face twisted into a deranged smirk as he leered down at her. 

 

“ _ Bitch”  _ he whispered, before spitting a mouthful of blood into her eyes. 

 

The guards were scrambling behind her as they reached for the patient, attempting to pull him away to help her. The nurses squeaked and fluttered about, attempting to diffuse the situation. 

 

They all stilled when a booming roar echoed in the small corridor, seeming to rise from the depths of Hell as if it was the cry before Armageddon. It even made Krueger stop his movements. 

 

He soon shrieked as he was ripped away from the cowering woman to be flung across the room, his scrawny bodice collided against the wall in a shotgun-like crack. 

 

He yelped as Thomas grabbed a fistful of his greasy hair and slamming his skull against the solid surface; a crater forming under the force of it. Blood spurted freely from his flared nostrils as his head banged against the wall once more; his teeth clattering onto the tile below them. 

 

Blood-drunk, Thomas wrapped his callused fingers around Krueger throat and lifted him into air with an ease that was almost monstrous; closing his fist until he can feel the man windpipe bending under his palm. 

 

Krueger could do nothing more than choke out a cry for help, clawing weakly at the giant's steel-like hold on him.

 

“ _ Thomas, let go of him!”  _ Joe roared as he pounded his baton against the man's back, hoping to get Hewitt to back down. 

 

Thomas merely ignored him as he continued his assault, the rush of adrenaline and anger making him unable to feel the blows upon his flesh. 

 

“ _ THOMAS, DAMN IT, HE SAID LET GO!”  _ Steven yelled as he aimed his baton at the patient's knees, although this did nothing. 

 

Helene ran down the hallway to alert the others that they needed backup, while the others tried to pry Thomas arm off him. But even with all their combined strengths, they couldn't get the beast of a man to let go.

 

Krueger flesh was beginning to turn blue, his eyes rolling upwards at the ceiling.

 

(Y/N) stood trembling before them as she frantically tried to wipe the blood off her skin, her wide eyes glued to the gruesome scene before her. At how Thomas eyes were thick with uncontrollable ire, his arm bulging with angry veins as he choked the life out of another man. His massive chest rising and falling in bellowing growls, his shirt speckled with blood. 

 

_ ‘he's protecting me,’  _ she thought frantically,  _ ‘'oh god, he's going to kill this man because he thought I was disrespected, oh god oh GOD’ _

 

She had to act fast, before Krueger was killed. He was an asshole who wanted to harm her, but she didn't want him dead. She didn't want him murdered in front of her eyes. 

 

“ _ Thomas!”  _ She croaked, stumbling forward drunkenly through the small crowd of people,  _ “THOMAS STOP!”  _

 

He merely ignored her, concentrating at the dying man in his grip as Krueger began to go limp. 

 

Desperate, she knew what she was about to do was breaking protocol and borderline unprofessional, but she had no other choice. 

 

Taking in a deep breath, she pushed forward and grabbed onto his bicep tightly; as if she was hugging herself to him.

 

Thomas stiffened in her hold and jerked his countenance down to where she stood, his grip loosening slightly on his victim where he managed to take in a gasping intake of breath; his mouth opening and closing frantically.

 

Panting heavily, she held his gaze steadily as she spoke as calm as as she could manage, “Thomas...Thomas, please don't kill him...I don't want him to die for this” 

 

She was never this close to him before, not even when they were in her office. At such close proximity, she felt dwarfed by his massive height; as if she was just a child to him. The top of her head only reaching to his collarbone, making her have to stand on her toes to be able to grab onto his arm. His skin was dry and bitter, undoubtedly from all his years in the sun; crisscrossed with childhood scars. 

 

His eyes were trained on her, and from being this close she can see how they weren't blacken orbs but a chestnut-brown with flecks of amber in them; pulsing like nuclear waste under the artificial lights. 

 

His presence was overwhelming her to the point where her knees shook under her pencil skirt, her tongue becoming heavy in her jaw. 

 

_ ‘I bet this is how it feels when the person falls into the lion den’  _ she thought dizzily. 

 

He still haven't let go of Krueger yet, so she tried once more with a more firm tone, “Thomas...Thomas please, let go of him, he was acting stupid but he shouldn't die for that” 

 

She pressed her palm against his flesh and she heard his breath hitch under his mask, his eyes never leaving hers as they narrowed into disbelieving slits. 

 

_ ‘Liar _ **_’_ ** they growled down at her. 

 

Running her tongue along her bottom lip in a nervous tick, she scrutinized him as he followed the simple movement with a familiar hunger in his eyes. 

 

She knew what she should do. 

 

Her grip loosened on him somewhat, becoming more gentle as she tilt her lips up to him an inviting manner; her eyes becoming hooded and soft. 

 

“Thomas...Thomas, you're such a sweet man…” She muttered, “protecting me like that when no one else would, you're so special to me…”

 

It was vulgar. It was wrong.

 

But it was working. 

 

Thomas was staring down at her with an utter spellbound expression upon his countenance, as if she was a burning star in the dark night sky. 

 

She felt some guilt for this, but quickly pushed it away as she cooed, “You're so smart for acting so quickly...but don't you think he had enough? You should let him go so the guards can punish him for doing that...let him go Sweetheart, let him go so we can take him far away from here…”

 

_ Sweetheart.  _ It struck the cord inside him again, but harder. As if his heart was being enclosed inside a fist. 

 

His hand stiffened, letting go of Kreuger to crumble on the ground at his feet, as the guards rushed into pull him to safety; shooting cautiously bewildered looks over at the psychiatrist. 

 

Thomas ignored them. 

 

(Y/N) eyes flickered over to them quickly, assessing the damage, before facing him once more; giving him one of her gentle smiles as she reached forward and placed her palm against his cheek. Listening as his breath quicken against her wrists, his eyes becoming glassy and focused intensely on her. 

 

“You did good Thomas, but you can never do that again….okay Sweetheart?” She murmured, “I know you're protecting me, but I don't want you to get in trouble and be taking away, you're mine, my patient and I want what is best for you...okay Thomas?”

 

_ My patient _

 

_ My... Patient… _

 

_ My... _

 

_ You're mine... _

 

_ Mine... _

 

_ Mine _

 

_ “Mine…”  _ he breathed, lovingly nuzzling his cheek into her palm as his fingers wrapped around her wrists; keeping her lock against him. 

 

“Yes...” She replied uneasily, utterly shocked at hearing him speak for the first time. Trepidation beating in her like a war drum at how he phrased it to her, fully aware of how close they were to each other.

 

At that moment, the backup finally arrived and grabbed onto Thomas elbows with the others as they yanked him away, barking at him not to make any sudden movements.

 

He just ignored them all, his eyes fixed on (Y/N) before him with a yearning burning away in his irises; hinting at what will come.

 

Even later, in his room when the night begins to settle and the moon bathes him in its glow, he still hears her words dancing over his head like the sweetest melody. 

 

_ Sweet Man…. _

 

_ So special to me… _

 

_ Sweetheart… _

 

_ MY patient… _

 

_ Mine…. _

 

Mine.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the reader manipulative nature comes out to play, if you ask me, I sort of pictured this chapter as the raptor training scene in Jurassic World lol.  
> Anyways, I hoped you guys enjoyed it and kudos and comments are always appreciated, but only if you guys wish to!  
> Until next time!


	4. Chapter 4: Well Done Pinocchio, You Told a Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Y/N) learned how to tell a lie without her nose growing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was made on a 12 hour bender. So any mistakes, please ignore until I manage to edit it when I'm awake.  
> Big author note at the end so fair warning!

**Chapter 4: Well Done Pinocchio, You Told a Lie**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

(Y/N) felt a small bite of annoyance when the staff yanked her towards the medical ward and flutter around her like frantic birds, shrieking and howling about the rights and wrongs while touching their sweating fingertips to her flesh; gently, lest she break. 

 

She was half tempted to shove away their hands and snap at them to calm themselves before they drive the patients mad with their excessive squealing. Instead, she bit her tongue and let the only doctor of the medical wing that was on shift to look her over; staring quietly at the wall opposite of her. 

 

She knew already that she was fine, aside from the small cut on the side of her head from when Krueger nails raked across her skull. In the moment, she was frightened, yes, but who wouldn't when they were attacked by a man known to have skinned animals while they were still alive? She was scared, but then she was not; for she was left fine after it. 

 

It was what happened with Thomas that left something shivering in her. 

 

“...I mean  _ honestly!”  _  (Y/N) tuned back in from her wavering reverie to hear Helene huffing and puffing yet again from her stance in the corner of the office; her thin arms pressed tightly over her breasts as she continued, “that...that  _ thing  _ should be locked up somewhere far from civilization and left to waste away into nothing! It  _ attacked  _ Krueger and then it attacked Dr. (Y/N)!” 

 

“He didn't  _ attack  _ me, if anything else, I'm pretty I'm the one who attacked Thomas,” (Y/N) murmured, wincing slightly as Dr. Hooper dabbed at her wound with a soaked cotton swab. 

 

“Did you?” He questioned, his voice a low hum in the back of his throat.

 

“Exaggerating the events largely, but yes” (Y/N) replied. 

 

Helene snorted and threw her hands towards the ceiling in a dramatic fashion, rolling her eyes upwards as she spat out, “you should've been there to see it Dr. Hooper! Hewitt was about five seconds away from snapping Krueger throat when Dr. (Y/N) intervened! She did some kind of seduction spell on him to calm the man down, and he stayed docile the whole time while we took him back to his room! It was like watching a ringleader tame a lion with just a chair as protection!”

 

“Interesting….” Dr. Hooper said in a tone that wasn't at all interested, turning to gaze back at his patient with raised brows; silently asking if this dramatic story was true. 

 

(Y/N) bit back the irritated sigh that threatened to escape her, pressing her palm against her pulsing forehead. Helene was known for her performances, taking any events and twisting it just so for it to become nothing short of Judgement Day; fueled by her obsession of soap operas and pulp fiction. It was no secret that Helene disliked her slightly as well, overhearing her complaining to Joe once about how Dr. (Y/N) was too serious at times; uppity and stiff following close behind.

 

(Y/N) tried not hate her too much for that. 

 

“It wasn't a spell or seduction, as she puts it, I was just trying to find a way to make Thomas calm himself without using force,” she explained slowly, “He was raised in a violent-fuelled environment, often the receiving end of mockery or abuse...his anger and murderous tendencies is stemmed from this...he wouldn't react to pain or commands, lest it was from his own kin, so I had to resort to other means, I had to be soft and kind with him to make him stop, which  _ worked _ ...I am well aware that was frowned upon, but I had to think of a split decision, and chose that...so crucify me if you so wish, but I did what I had to do”

 

“You did what you had to do” Dr. Hooper replied back reasonably as he pulled away from her, peeling off his bloodied latex gloves. 

 

She breathed out a sigh of relief at this.

 

Dr. Hooper was a simple man, who didn't go out of his way to flaunt his masculinity nor froth at the thought of her being here. He overlooked her often if she was not needed, passing her off as nothing more cunning than a crone drooling away in a wheelchair. He was fully aware of her degrees and schooling, but it was more of a measured patience; accepting her intelligence with open-handed pity. 

 

He undoubtedly thought she acted out in the moment, as any hysterical female patient he had to attend to would do, so she didn't fear him running off to the Board of Administrators to squeal on what she had done.

 

It was in these mundane moments, she was glad to be underestimated.

 

“I still think we should transfer him to some other facility,” Helene continued her rant, “sure, he had a bad childhood, but it still doesn't excuse the crimes he committed!”

 

“Nurse Helene, please calm yourself or else I would be required to ask you to leave early,” (Y/N) commanded as she pushed herself off the examination table, “and as what will happen to Mr. Hewitt will be between Dr. Sawyer and I, other than that, I suggest you just go back to finishing up your shift” 

 

The Nurse in question reeled back as if she was throttled, her powdered expression turning a rash shade of pink as she sputtered at the psychiatrist, “are you honestly  _ defending  _ that thing?”

 

(Y/N) thought this over.

 

Was she truly defending Thomas? 

 

What he did to Krueger was entirely gruesome. He was rushed to the hospital once he was released from his grip, his countenance a mess of drool and blood that only the pulsing whites of his eyes were visible. His teeth were collected from the ground in vain hope of being to reattach them again. 

 

The man was undoubtedly going to be suffering from multiple skull fractures and possible brain hemorrhage, with a crushed windpipe on top of it. All that for….what? Because he attacked her? Because Thomas was, in a twisted way, protecting her? 

 

She found herself recoiling at the thought of that. She never needed protection before, and the few times she did need it, she managed to hold off the attacker with her words and fists until help can arrive (I.E when Cole gave her the permanent scar) 

 

Her friends from college would tell tales about how their boyfriends would get in scuffles at bars or local parties when a man was beginning to get too friendly with them, and she remembered feeling disgusted by this. She didn't think violence as necessary, especially when it comes to petty things such as jealousy. 

 

Except Thomas wasn't jealous, nor violent ever since he came here. He just wanted to protect her, albeit in a extreme fashion.

 

_ ‘He is only five years older than me, not to mention he came from deep inside Texas where the only entertainment they can find is at church,’  _ she thought, ‘ _ if his upbringing is close to mine, he was raised with southern expectations, particularly when it comes to women. We were taught to think women as nothing more than baby-machines who needed constant protection. If so, he lashed out because his mother taught him to, not because he felt like murdering someone for the hell of it’ _

 

It wasn't an excuse for what he did, but it was a reason. She found that to be enough. 

 

“That  _ thing  _ is my patient, and I would kindly ask you not to call Thomas that ever again,” (Y/N) spoke coldly, “thank you for your concern, but I would advise you to go help Amy with the refilling of prescription pills before your absence is noticed” 

 

Helene blinked, stunned. She parted her lips as if to say something more, before flinging the door open and storming out; her kitten heels clacking against the polished floor. 

 

Heaving a weary sigh, (Y/N) smoothed down her pencil skirt before questioning the doctor next to her, “am I free to go?”

 

“Yes, you have minor scratches and I suggest you take some antibiotics when you go home to lessen the chance of catching an infection, but other than that, you're fine” Dr. Hooper grunted, scribbling away at his notepad without glancing over at her. 

 

Taking this as her dismissal, she nodded and stepped out to the hall as well; tracing her fingers absentmindedly over the gauze plastered on the side of her head.

 

_ ‘Another war wound to add onto my resume,’  _ she thought dryly,  _ ‘I'll be a walking scar by the time I retire, or find another profession’ _

 

She has thought about that multiple times throughout the years since working here. She thought of retiring early and moving to Florida, where she'll just quietly become an author; publishing novels about all the events she saw here. Maybe do counselling as a side-job. Finally settle down with a man, get a cozy home, raise about 2.5 kids and a dog. 

 

It was her pride that made her go on for so long, for staying here despite how much pressure it puts on her soul. She had to endure eight years studying for her degree and two years interning along with it, with her professors quirking their brows at her and suggesting she get a degree in Homemaking. How she had to simper and flutter her eyelashes and be so  _ damn  _ polite while the boys elbow each other and snicker and cut their eyes to girls who skirts flutter when they descended the stairs. 

 

She gritted her teeth and bared it all, all to come here and try to prove herself worthy of recognition. That it was secretly the reason why she planned to ask Dr. Sawyer not to send Thomas away. 

 

She was possessive of her patients, but it wasn't in a loving manner. No, she was possessive because she saw them as extensions of herself, of her work. She couldn't bare the thought of putting work into them, to study and push them into healthy recoveries, only for them to be ripped away and assigned to someone else. To know someone else out there was smugly taking credit. Yes, she cared about their general well-beings, she does what she can to help them, but it still comes back to that. Her pride. 

 

It was selfish to think of that, she admits. She hates herself sometimes for it, for clinging onto this Boogeyman of a feeling, as she hates herself for crafting up personas to trick people. But she had no other  _ choice.  _

 

Shaking her head at lingering thoughts, she made a note to herself to ask Dr. Sawyer to let Thomas stay when she nexts see him. She'll continue her treatments with him, hopefully coaxing him into becoming a normal citizen. 

 

She'll help him to the best of her ability, while proving to the others that she can  _ handle  _ this. To finally stop being overlooked, while simultaneously making him whole again. 

 

She felt like this would help them greatly in the future. If not, if she failed, she still had her retirement plan ready. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Luda Mae knuckles were beginning to bleed as she scrubbed at the grime in the cracks of the front door, the bleach running thickly into them and leaving her hissing with pain. 

 

She continued to clean anyways.

 

She swept and mopped the upstairs hallways, folded all the spare linens, aired out the rooms after she straightened everything there. She darned Monty's socks, washed the laundry twice, polished Charlie's and Thomas boots-

 

At their names, she felt a sob bubble up her throat. She scrubbed harder at the filth with her thin teeth bared, tears sequined in her eyelashes. 

 

She emptied the refrigerator and wiped all the grooves clean, boiled her silverware until they sparkled, beat the rugs until her lungs with thick with their dust. She counted the cans of food they had left, tended to Monty's stumps of legs, baked bread for dinner. Now she was scrubbing at her front door until she...until she…

 

She gave an agonized moan as she sunk to her knees, pressing the palms of her hands over her dripping eyes. 

 

Nothing she'll do would ever eradicated her pain. She can clean and cooked until the cows come home, until her knuckles openly wept blood and her ankles gave out from her under, but it won't do her any good. It won't change the fact that her brother and her son-her sweet and misunderstood  _ son _ -were taken from her. 

 

Charlie, who she'll admit had a bit of a temper strike but otherwise did what was right for the family, was hauled off to jail to be sentenced even longer there. They wouldn't even grant him bail, believing he was some menace to society when society is the reason he became so jagged. Ripping him away from her and sending him off to fight the Japs and the Gooks when he was barely out of schooling, and then shunning him when he came back and told them of all the horrors he had to do. They locked him up as if he was some...some  _ devil.  _

 

And Thomas, oh God,  _ Thomas.  _ Her little, sweet, beautiful boy who was abandoned to rot away in a dumpster until she found him. Her misunderstood son, who was bullied all through his childhood by the other kids, until she had no choice but to homeschool him. How she  _ knew  _ he was bright, that he was probably smarter than all those little shits back at his school, but the words just got mixed up in his head; like they were jumping around on the pages. If they waited and be patient with him, he might have got it, but the teachers just rolled their eyes at him and huffed in annoyance; marking his papers full of red slashes and calling him retarded. They treated him like nothing more than a savage, being wheeled away to be locked up in some looney bin. 

 

They promised her mercy. They told her she can stay in their home once evidence has been gathered, told her she can stay with Uncle Monty and come see Thomas and Charlie once they were settled in. They spoke in such soft tones, while letting their eyes roam over her dirtied form in disgust. Seeing her as nothing more than a dirty mutt, who just followed the boys orders for she was too scared to disagree. She wanted to scratch their eyes out for that. 

 

She couldn't do anything, for her brother and son was locked up, and Monty was still recovering from his surgery and needed someone there to watch him. All she can do is clean and cry, marking down the days until she can see them again. Feeling useless and empty. 

  
  


_ My poor...innocent...son…. _

  
  


Stilling the cries slithering from her heaving chest, she quickly brushed the tears away from her cheeks; smearing crimson along her flesh in the process. Her breathes coming out in short hiccups. 

 

_ ‘Y'know what Grandmama always said, whining will get you nowhere,’  _ she scolded herself as she struggled to climb onto her feet, despite how the tears still came, ‘ _ best be getting to tending the bread and see how long it'll last us before I gotta go hunting for scraps again’  _

 

It was then, while she was shuffling off to the kitchen, did she heard the telephone begin to ring. She eyed it cautiously. 

 

Before they were found out what they did to those ungrateful brats, no one ever called them. The whole town went out their way to make sure they weren't seen in close perimeters of the Hewitt family, let alone try to phone them.

 

It would occasionally ring now, from reporters poking their noses around and asking if they can interview her. To ask if she can give them a quote on why her family was twisted, is Charlie really a sadistic rapist? Is Thomas some kinda hunchback creature? She always hung up on them. 

 

She considered letting it ring, if it was truly one of those cunts again. Instead, she gave in and picked it up, pressing it against her ear with a slurred greeting.

 

“Hullo Luda Mae, goods to hear your voice again!”

 

“ _ Charlie?”  _ She whispered, her hand fluttering to her chest, “Charlie, is that really you?”

 

“One and only!” He cackled, causing the corner of her lips to tremble upwards in a broken smile. 

 

“Oh God, I was so  _ worried _ ! Those damn pigs hauled you and Thomas so fast before I can even say a proper goodbye and...and…” she stammered, “Just tell me you boys are alright, before I done pass away from all the worrying”

 

“Yeah, I'm fine, bit banged up but otherwise, still living,” He grunted, “Thomas is okay, from the last time I saw him, but knowing my nephew, he's smart enough to stay out of any trouble at the looney bin”

 

“Oh Lord, I hope he's okay...I hope you'll still be okay…”

 

“Oh, you don't gotta worry any longer about us, since you'll be seeing us soon enough” Charlie chuckled

 

“What do you mean by that?” She questioned, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as she eyed the glistening silverware spread on the kitchen table; knowing she'll have to put them away soon. 

 

“Well, ya see, I can't really tell you all the details since we gots the guards listening to our phone calls, but all I can say is...I rang our cousin Drayton and he said he'll be happy to come help us out of jail, just plain happy…”

 

Luda Mae let herself become silent as she studied the flickering sunlight spreading across the wooden floors, the shadows becoming elongated and reaching out to her; covering her still countenance in them until her irises shone like ice cubes. 

 

“Well, that's mighty fine for them to come help us out…” She finally spoke, “just fine...and Charlie?”

 

“Yes Mama?”

 

“Make them pay…” She murmured as she let the dark consume her, “Make them pay for taking my boy away from me, ya hear? Everyone who laid a finger on him, I want them to get what's coming to them...” 

 

“You act like I wasn't planning that already”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Dr. (Y/N) could hear them out in the hallway before they entered the room, at how his chains clattered loudly against the polished floors with each lurch of his heavy footsteps; reminding her faintly of the Tin-Man she seen in the  _ Wizard of Oz  _ movie when she was a little girl. 

 

_ ‘you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one’ _ Her brain bebop as she stood onto her feet to greet her patient,  _ ‘Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable’ _

 

She didn't believe in something more than that quote. 

 

Despite how she tried to compose herself for this moment of seeing him again, practicing over and over in the mirror over the dresser at her apartment, she couldn't do anything to stop her breath from catching her throat once more as Thomas stepped into her office. 

 

His very presence demanded attention, lest there be consequences. Perhaps it was his towering figure, or  it was the horrific crimes attach to his name. 

 

Or perhaps it was the way he stared at her as he entered the room. 

 

“Good morning boys, lovely to see you again” she greeted the guards as they brought him to her couch, tugging at his chains to make him sit down. 

 

They merely grunted in response, attaching his bonds to the anchors tightly without care in their movements. 

 

They were undoubtedly irritated at her for speaking with Dr. Sawyer on letting Thomas stay, for they all collectively thought he was a monstrous man who needed to be sent to a maximum prison somewhere far away from them. She immediately shut down these complaints, going so far as to say that if she see or heard anything ill-spirited about her patient, she would be happy to suspend them for a week without pay. 

 

It was suffice to say their opinions towards her soured quite a bit.

 

_ ‘Oh well, they'll come around eventually again, just continue having to play nice until they cave,’  _ she thought easily as she watched them exit the room, closing the door audibly behind them. 

 

Thomas breath quickened at the gentle smile tugging at the corner of her lips once she faced him again, the morning lights behind her slanting across her flesh and making her glow. Her skin seeming to sparkle with her youth, making him remember how soft it felt against his cheek when she touched him the other day. 

 

The modest silk blouse she was wearing slide easily over her breasts and hips, tucked carefully into high-waisted pleated trousers that showed off her full hips. When she twist to greet him, the fabric bunched at her waist; pressed tightly against the cups of her brassiere. 

 

The furious need rose in him again, clawing along his stomach as he glanced away at the oil paintings decorating her walls; slapping his knees together in hopes of pushing down the hunger burning away in him. 

 

Out the corner of his eyes, he can see how she startled at the sudden movement of his, before relaxing in her chair as she tilted her head; reaching for her notebook. 

 

“How are you today, Thomas?” She questioned, her voice reminding him of the windchimes his Mama had strung along the back porch, “did you get a good night's sleep?”

 

His cheeks burned under the flimsy mask they provided for him as he gave a curt nod, continuing to glance bashfully away from her steady gaze. 

 

He couldn't tell her of how his sleep consist of her, with his head resting upon her lap with her fingers stroking along the scars sliced across his cheeks, her crotch warm against his ear as she spoke so lovingly to him. How she told him he was hers and she was his, how he was so sweet and handsome, how she never wanted to leave his side. How soft her lips were when she bend down to kiss him. 

 

No, he couldn't tell her that. Not now.

 

“You know, I never had a chance to talk to you about yesterday...about the incident with Krueger” she went on, tapping the eraser end of her pencil against her notes. 

 

He huffed at the mention of the name of the man he almost brutally murdered, but stayed silent. 

 

“You realize what you did was wrong, don't you Thomas?” She continued, raising her eyebrows at him, “you shouldn't have attacked him like that, even if what he was doing was wrong”

 

He let his eyes fall back to where she sat, his heavy eyebrows pulled low over his stare. Slowly, he lifted his hand and uncurled his pointer finger, gesturing it easily over in her direction.

 

Shaking her head as if he spoke, she answered, “I know he was attacking me, and I know you were only trying to protect me, and I greatly appreciate that...but you shouldn't kill people because they do bad things Thomas, that's not how the laws go” 

 

Seeing the disbelief in his eyes, she spoke more calmly in hopes of making him see, “Thomas, if you kill anyone here, they'll will send you to prison...if they send you to prison, then I can't be your psychiatrist anymore and we won't be able to help you…. _ I  _ won't be able to help you...is that what you want? Not being able to see each other anymore?”

 

At her words, his shoulders stiffened into points as he shook his head vividly, his meaty fingers balling into fists. 

 

“Don't worry, I spoke with Dr. Sawyer to give you another chance,” she soothed, “I wanted you to stay more than anyone else, because I see a potential of change in you, you know? And hey, maybe in the near future, we can even become friends!” 

 

“ _ No _ ”

 

She reeled back against the back of her seat at his response, his deep voice snarling outwards and echoing in the confined room. Her lips parted as she glanced back at him, her eyes wide with bewilderment.

 

“You….you don't want to be friends?” She replied slowly, still shock at hearing him reply back to her for the second time that week. 

 

He blinked sluggishly before shaking his head. 

 

Raising his hand back to her, he pointed at her once more before reaching back and touching his palm to the center of his chest; his heartbeat thudding away under his fingers. 

 

_ “Mine” _

 

“Y-Yours?” She repeated hesitantly, as if not sure she heard him right. 

 

He nodded once, pressing his fingers into his knees as his breath became heavy behind his mask. 

 

Her mind flickered back to the other night, to the words she blurted out in hopes of calming him down; cursing at herself for letting a miscommunication slip past her. 

 

When she spoke those words, she was hoping she can make him see her as a trusted friend, that she was his  _ psychiatrist.  _ Not...not  _ his.  _ She should've worded herself better, knowing fully well that he couldn't grasp onto sentences that well if they aren't sorted out for him. 

 

She had to think this over. 

 

Should she tell him the truth, of how she didn't really meant for it be a romantic declaration? It was the most ethical thing to do. However, if she did, then there's a chance he'll take the rejection badly; shutting her out completely or lashing out in anger. The trust she built with him would be broken, and perhaps stay broken. He'll be assigned to some other psychiatrist who wouldn't have his best interests in mind, and she would have a failure added to her record. She didn't want that for them. 

 

Could she outright lie to him? That, yes, she was his? She'll use his love against him, withdrawing his information and perhaps giving him a spark of hope in this dreary place. However, this could end badly, if he was ever released or she had to leave. He could become obsessed with her to the point of not baring to live without her, and might end up committing suicide. Then it will come out that she lied to him to gain information, and her licensed would be revoked. She didn't want that for them either. 

 

She needed to find a compromise.

 

“Thomas…” She spoke slowly, watching as he straightened eagerly at his name, “Thomas I...do you love me?”

 

He nodded without hesitation. 

 

“Thomas, I don't think you really love me…” She muttered, “I just think your feelings are a bit confused right now, it's actually quite common amongst patients and their therapists, called transference-”

 

_ “No!”  _ He snapped, making her jump and recoil back as he growled out, “ _ Mine!” _

 

“Okay…” she replied gently, holding her palm out to him, “Okay...it's okay...if you think I'm yours...then...I'm yours”

 

She'll find a way back to this later, when they managed to get further along in their therapy sessions. She knew these feelings would fade out once they can get to the core problem of his mindset, and if not, she can reach a diagnosis that will provide him with medicine that can help combat these intense feelings. 

 

For now, she'll play along. 

 

“Okay Thomas, if I'm yours...then that means you're mine, alright?” She continued, “and if you want to be mine, then you'll do things for me, right? You be able to help me with some research?” 

 

His head bobbed once more, his eyes wide with alert and one-track mind to help. It almost made her sad, at how desperate he tried to keep her pleased, as if afraid disobedience will make her not love him. 

 

“Do you see that paper and pencil on the coffee table in front of you? I would like for you to pick it up and try to write your name out on the top, just your first and last is all I need...can you help me with that?” 

 

He stiffened noticeably at her probing, his eyes darting down frantically at the paper in front of him before shaking his head; crossing his arms over his chest as if attempting to shield himself from a blow. 

 

“Why not? Can you tell me why Thomas?” She questioned gently, posing her pen over her own notebook. 

 

His eyes darted to her calm expression, before falling back to his lap; a soft moan slipping from his lips as he curled into himself tighter. 

 

“Do...do the words come out funny to you?” She asked, “do they sometimes seem like their dancing? Like they keep getting all mixed up and making it difficult for you to read?”

 

He didn't nodded his head, but the way his eyes flickered towards her gave her the answer she needed. 

 

She felt the pity slickened the back of her throat.

 

_ ‘I was correct then...Thomas isn't mentally impaired...he just have a learning disability that went unchecked for too long, because his school undoubtedly wouldn't have the proper funding to investigate on why some of their students are slow to reading and writing...he doesn't speak because the words don't come out that well, or he disconnects between the right ones to use...he went mute because he was teased into silence…’ _

 

“It's fine, you don't have to write anything if you don't want to…” She said soothingly, “we can work on that later, when you're more comfortable…”

 

He didn't look up at her, only choosing instead to continue curling in himself tightly; as if he was going to break.

 

_ ‘Patient has shown going through mood swings in the hour of a session,’  _ she thought as a mental note to write later down in his folder, standing on her feet ‘ _ He is shown with quick attachment to individuals he doesn't know that well due to acts of kindness, falling into a panic-like state when confronted with his learning disability, after showing eagerness to comply to simple orders...there is clear indication of low self-worth, feeling of inadequacies. Possible BPD diagnosis, will have to do more screening to get a better answer’ _

 

Slowly, she sunk onto her knees at his side, taking great precaution to make sure she still hovered outside the painted yellow line. Tilting her head upwards so she can see his eyes behind the curtain of hair he was using to shield his gaze from her. 

 

“Thomas, it's okay, I'm here for you…” she whispered, reaching upwards to tap her finger against her chest, “I'm yours, and I would never do anything to hurt you, like I know you would do nothing to hurt me, right?”

 

He gazed back at her blankly, his mask moist with his heaving breaths. At how close (Y/N) was to him, where he can count every one of her eyelashes individually. How her blouse tightened with each breath she took. She glowed under the lights, like she was the Sun herself, blinding him with her gentle beauty. 

 

_ ‘I'm yours…’ _

 

“ _ Mine _ ” he whispered, pleading with his eyes for confirmation. 

 

“Yours” she lied easily, smiling prettily back at him. 

 

With shaking fingers, he reached for the pencil. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have this headcanon that the Leatherface from the TCM remake, Thomas Hewitt, is Dyslexic rather than mentally impaired. The reason for that, was because when I watched both of the remakes (the 2003 and 2006 one) I noticed that Thomas acts quite differently from Bubba Sawyer. Bubba is easily spooked, anxious, and often falling or tripping. The few times we hear him talk is just a bunch of babbling and muttering. Thomas, however, just stays silent (other than a few howls of pain here and there) however, when I further study him, I was surprised to see how intelligent he came off. He managed to hold a steady job at a slaughterhouse since he was in his teens, didn't kill an employee because he saw that he was being watched and then waited till everyone left before killing his boss, managed to know which pig pen the last girl was hiding in, and figured out which car she was going to go for and hide out in the backseat without being seen. The only time he was tricked was when Erin put the pig in the other locker to distract him, and we couldn't call him dumb for this because we also fell for it as well!   
> So there's no way in Hell this Leatherface was slow, if he can pull off calculating moves like that. I feel like Dyslexia could be a proper diagnosis for him since children who suffer from it lack behind in reading and writing yet could be athletic (you look me in the eyes and tell me that 6'8, 300 pounds beast of man is not athletic! He kept up with a truck for christ sake!) And also possess street smarts (I.E. how he knew the two final girls were gonna go for the slaughterhouse) not to mention many kids with this learning disability actually prefer not to talk for so long or make big speeches, because they get the words jumbled up or can't connect a sound with a word. Which could explain why Thomas never wants to talk, because he fears messing up a simple sentence.   
> Dyslexia could actually be overcomed with studying and practicing, and most of the kids with the disorder are pretty bright. However, I feel like the school system in the 1930s-40s wouldn't have cared much with helping kids with this disability, although I'm not sure because I'm not a major history scholar. What my theory is, Thomas was just slow at reading and writing and would have improved it, but the school and his classmates just immediately deemed him as retarded, based easily on his appearance. He was repeatedly told he was retarded and as his grades dropped, he just accepted it as the truth. 
> 
> Because of this, along with his skin disease, quickly led to a mental illness he must have as well: Borderline Personality Disorder.   
> I would dive into my theory on this as well, however, I'm running out of space, so I'll have to save it for the next chapter!  
> However, if Thomas comes off as switching moods so much in this chapter, the note in the next chapter will explain that as well so be ready for that.
> 
> Also, if the Reader comes off as sort of selfish in this chapter, it's because...she kind of is. I often say she just does what she has to do to survive her times, but I also don't really see her as a victim (for now). I just see her as an anti-hero, if anything. She feels guilt and self-loathing, but she also feels bitter and conceited at times. I try to make her as human as possible, so she'll show her negative side often. her motto is basically “you either save yourself or remain unsaved” 
> 
> Also, I don't know if this was caught on, but Thomas is thirty years old while the reader is twenty-five. It's not that important to the story, but I just wanted to clear that up.
> 
> I think that's all I have to say. If there's any errors or mispelling in the chapters, I'm sorry, I will probably fix it later. But it's almost 10 am and I been awake all night so I should hit the hay first. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! Your encouragement is forever appreciated and I wouldn't be a writer without you! Thank you a lot!
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> P.S: you guys didn't really think they would kiss at the end of this chapter, eh? Don't worry though, that'll come up soon ;3


	5. Chapter 5: Pop! Goes the Weasel Switchblade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets some visitors
> 
> (Y/N) tries to survive the night
> 
> Thomas remembers the first time with a woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very weird chapter. You'll see why in a few minutes. Sorry in advance

**Chapter 5: Pop! Goes the Weasel Switchblade**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Henry shuffled from one foot to another as he impatiently casted a glare down the empty driveway, spitting a thick glob of chaw onto the pavement below his work boots.

 

“ _ Goddamn asshole….”  _ He sneered as he batted a horse fly away from his cheek; his tobacco-stained teeth flashing between his curled lips.

 

Henry was never known for his calm demeanor, ever since he was brought back from Korea. He wish he can say it was because he was wired on military time, but in all honesty, he never had any patience for useless things since he was a little boy. 

 

And as far as he knows now, Chuck is one of the most useless things he ever seen this far in his life.

 

Chuck was hired to become his partner for the prison transportation and transfers, which is really a fancy way of saying he was there to drive a fuck-ton of prisoners from location A to location B. It was often no hassle, since there was always guards assigned along to keep the prisoners calm when they were driving, and beat the shit out of them when they weren't. If the humor was upon him, Henry would have no problem calling himself a glorified taxi driver. 

 

However, despite the ease of his job, the new guy still manages to fuck it up. 

 

He was nothing more than a city boy whose mother coddled him a bit too much, leaving him a whiny little beatnik who slurped LSD like they were going out of style; leaving him always late for his shifts. 

 

As right now.

 

_ ‘I swear, if that kid don't show up in the next five minutes, I'm gonna rip that ugly lil’ bush he calls a beard and shove it up his ass’  _ Henry growled inside his mind, spitting viciously onto the soil again.

 

As if hearing his thoughts, there was a whirl of wheels crunching on the gravel and the beaten-up van groaned around the corner; chugging along in awkward jerks. 

 

This wasn't entirely new of Chuck to do, especially when he smoked most of his lunch. He would drive like an arthritis-ridden elderly woman with the 8-track turned on all the way high, screeching along to whatever Rolling Stone cassette he found interesting that day. 

 

Except this time, he didn't have his usual music on. As the vehicle pulled closer, Henry could hear the radio turned on to a thundering bass, the music crawling out the open window of the driver's side. He couldn't place what it was for a moment, the radio spitting out the song in statics and garbles; as if the cassette wasn't functioning properly. As he listened closer, he realized the jarring melody was actually a jaunty, calliope-like tune; with a cheerful female voice crooning on top of it. 

 

Henry frown deepened as he realized it was the nursery rhyme,  _ Pop Goes the Weasel _ , that was being played loudly; pulling his eyebrows low over his eyes.

 

“What kinda sissy music you're listening to now?” he snapped as the van crawled to a stop a few feet in front of him; a migraine beginning to bloom behind his eyes. 

 

Chuck didn't answer, his frame hunched over the steering wheel with the hood of his jacket pulled low over his eyes that were staring at the dashboard before him; his fingers patting against the rim of the wheel to the beat of the song. 

 

Henry cursed the boy out for making the music too loud for him to hear him properly, slinking a few steps to the van as he repeated his question once more; the throbbing in his head increasing by tenfold. 

 

The boy still hasn't answered, making the veteran driver puff out angrily as he stepped closer, his meaty fingers bawled at his side as he was half-tempted to box his partner in both ears for not listening to him. 

 

“Chuck, you asshole!” Henry snarled, standing at the open window now as he slammed his palm against the door, “Goddamn it, turn down the music and listen-”

 

The words choked into a wheeze as Chuck whipped his countenance towards Henry, as the last note of the melody reached its fever-pitch ending. 

 

It was Chuck's face that peered back at him, yet it was warped slightly, a fold of skin rising up under his eyes. Crimson threaded the edges of his flesh and on his gaping mouth and nostrils, rolling down his neck in thick slushes and staining the collar of his uniform.  But the most horrifying part of the dawning realization was the fact that Chuck's dopey browns didn't look back at him, but a pair of crazed icy-blues stared back at him instead.

 

It wasn't Chuck.

 

It was a man, wearing his face.

 

_ He was wearing Chuck's face.  _

 

“Pop! Goes the weasel” the man purred

 

Henry could only stare back at him dumbly before his senses took hold of him again, causing him to try to stumble back as he wheezed, “ _ what the fuc-” _

 

The man lunged forward and yanked on Henry collar, bringing him forward as there was a snicker of metal; his switchblade grinning in his free hand.

 

Henry flailed his arms uselessly, parting his lips to scream for help. 

 

A gurgling whimper slipped from his tongue instead as the man jammed the blade into his throat, sending gushes of blood spraying along his mutilated countenance and soaking into the car seat. 

 

Weasel dropped the dying man carelessly as he pushed open the car door, stepping with great caution over the puddle of blood to save his boots from anymore stains. He lurched around to the back of the van and pulled open the door, managing to catch Drayton in time before he tumbled onto the ground. 

 

“About time! Do you know how hot it is in the back?” The older man huffed as he ran his fingers over his trousers, grimacing at the grime sticking onto them, “I've damn near had a stroke back there!” 

 

“Ain't my fault the man took forever to kill” Weasel grunted as he reached into the back and grabbed onto the shotguns, tossing one to Drayton as he gestured at him to hand one over. 

 

“He  _ didn _ 't took forever to kill, you just waited to make it more dramatic” Drayton snapped as he loaded the barrel with shells, “Swear, I think you were born for the theatre than the slaughterhouse” 

 

“Yeah, sure,” Weasel said unceremoniously as he cocked the gun in his hand, a glob of blood drooling into his mouth from Chuck's face. He wrinkled his nose and spat the quivering plasma onto the soil, watching in great satisfaction as it landed onto Henry's glassy eye, “Anywho, let's go get started already, Mama promised to cook her special roast if we managed to get Hoyt and Tommy back to the ranch before sundown” 

 

“Maybe we oughta stop for some flour after so she can bake some of her cornbread,” Drayton murmured as they walked up to the backdoor, spinning the dead men keys in his free hand, “Maybe even a cake as a celebratory thing, y'know?” 

 

“She does make a mean cake” Weasel agreed as they swung the door open, stepping into the poorly lit corridor that stank of piss and sweat. 

 

He began to hum the nursery song cheerfully under his breath as a pair of guards pivoted around the corner, raising his shotgun high to them. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Dr. (Y/N) barely managed to avoid running into the doorframe leading into the breakroom, sluggishly making her way to the coffee pot in stutter-like steps; running a finger along the strands of hair that escaped from her bun. 

 

“Busy night?” Amy called out from her seat at one of the tables near the windows, cocking a golden brow high in amusement; a tepid mug of coffee between her fingers. 

 

“Busy would be an understatement…” (Y/N) murmured as she poured herself a cup, throwing on a splash of sugar on top of it. 

 

This statement was undoubtedly true. Due to Dr. Mason catching a bad bout of walking pneumonia and being hospitalized early this morning after fainting in his office, All his work was pushed onto the remaining psychiatrists, leaving them all burden with a large workload despite it being split up evenly between the staff. 

 

She was assigned about five different patients for her sessions, on top of her usual thirteen who already had her spread thin between them all. She spend the whole morning and afternoon juggling between each one, seeing if they were fit to see her, while reading through their paperwork carefully to make sure she can get caught up on how far they got along in therapy. 

 

On top of  _ that _ , they had to scramble to make more room for incoming patients, for more veterans from Vietnam are starting to be institutionalized rather than being sent to prison for the crimes they committed; a disingenuous way of the state apologizing for putting those men through Hell. Although, she is somewhat grateful they're getting the help they need...even if it is at the expense of her losing her weekends for it. 

 

“I don't blame you, we've been pretty busy as well,” Amy admitted, stretching her arms over her head to loosen the tension in her shoulders, “Helene, Josephine, and I had to ration the soap and toothpaste until the next shipment comes in, while moving around mattresses to make sure they'll be enough room for the new patients without stacking the old ones on top of each other”

 

“It's true what they say then, that the wicked never rest” (Y/N) replied lightheartedly, swallowing a mouthful of the bitter brew. 

 

Amy snorted and raised her cup high in jest, chuckling, “nor the weary, and who can be more weary than us?” 

 

“How cynical of you” (Y/N) quipped, although partially for she was inhaling her coffee once more. 

 

“Politics does that to you,” Amy retorted easily, “that, and working late shifts here...not to mention my Baptist upbringing makes me a bit uneasy of the world” scrutinizing the woman before her for a moment, she continued, “what about you Doctor? Are you cynical?”

 

(Y/N) let her eyes wander out to the windows before her, listening to the cicadas begin their cries as she thought about her answer. 

 

“I like to think I'm practical,” she answered slowly, rolling the mug between her fingers, “Pragmatic maybe, but not cynical, no” 

 

“Don't doubt that, sometimes you have to be a certain way to get anywhere in life,” Amy said reasonably as she shrugged her dainty shoulders.

 

(Y/N) let her eyes flicker to the golden-haired woman near her, studying her over the rim of her mug; wondering briefly if there was a double meaning behind Amy words. 

 

Amy was a natural beauty with a buxom figure on top of it, all wrapped up in dewey skin and cinnamon-colored freckles on the bridge of her nose. Something about her screamed she was blessed with this looks at an early age, flirting unabashedly with herself in the mirror. She undoubtedly learned the art of utilizing this charms by secondary school, yet pursued a degree in politics once she got accepted into university. So there was a hidden urge in her, something that drove her to it. 

 

Maybe Amy knew, as well. Of how the world really ran, with its expectations and regulations. How she had to live under facades, switching between each personality on a daily basis, until she had to drag herself back to her apartment and collapse onto her couch; mentally exhausted beyond repair. Having to play this caricature of herself in hopes of just being  _ seen.  _

 

(Y/N), with desperation thick in her throat, thought of sitting down next to Amy and revealing everything; letting them unearth the burden they had to carry for so long until the sun gave out above them. She was tempted, until she saw how cherubic-soft the younger girl countenance was; how easily she held herself. Free. 

 

_ ‘She doesn't know,’  _ (Y/N) thought bitterly as she pushed herself down into her chest, feeling it being encased behind the solid wall that has held it for almost a decade,  _ ‘'she doesn't know, and she never will...even if she runs for seat in Congress or Governor or whatever, she probably be the honest kind, who speaks her mind freely without thoughts of repercussions, and she'll dared to act surprised when they spit on her for it’  _

 

She felt the loneliness begin to invade her again, inking her mindset with pulsing blue-spots. It was a pretentious thing to feel, this utter isolation, for it was only brought on by her mindset; built from years of having to close herself off partially from the world. She had no right to feel this, yet it still bubbled up in the most unexpected places, whether it be at an ebullience-riddled birthday bash or at home in front of the radio. At the peak of her self-hatred, she liked to call this her slippage of her sins. 

 

As swiftly as this came, she promptly shook it off as she stiffened her resolve once more. She had no time for her little pity party, nor will she allow it. She made her bed long ago, and now she'll lie in it. As if right now, she need to finish up her work before she allows herself to go home. That's all that matters right now.

 

Slurping down what was left of her drink, she pushed the mug back into the sink and squared her shoulders like a tin soldier; mentally preparing herself for the workload ahead. 

 

“I should be getting back to work now...” she muttered as she gave a parting smile, turning towards the exit. 

 

“Alright, see you later” Amy called out as she reached for the magazine in front of her, the sky above them purring with promised thunder. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


_ “Now Tommy, I know I'm always a bit mean to ya and seem to always be teasin’, but ya know I love you, right?” _

 

_ Thomas slowly nodded, hesitating, before nodding more vigorously at Charlie's scowl; his shoulders jerking to his ears.  _

 

_ “Oh, stop that cowering boy, I ain't gonna be whooping on you like ‘em cunts at yer school, but I really mean it, ya know? I love you, cause you my nephew and I done do about anything for my family” _

 

_ Thomas let his chin drop back down to his chest as he pressed his thumbs together, scrutinizing the soil underneath their boots as they follow the winding trail deeper into the forest; the sun blinking at them from the treetops.  _

 

_ “Since yer my family, it means I gotta step up to the plate to be teaching you things, things yer Mama can't be teaching you herself” _

 

_ At Thomas perplexed expression, Charlie lazily waved his hand as he continued, “Not like that Tommy, not the alphabet and numbers and minding the chickens...I meant, things women wouldn't be knowing or telling about….men things, things we teach other once we grow out the stages of being a boy, And I done already taught you about hunting and fishing and putting a heffer out of its misery, and all those are important steps into becoming a man, but the biggest one...well, the biggest one is the thing I'm gonna show you” _

 

_ The ground under their heavy footsteps soon became muted and even as they walked into the edge of a small clearing; a jagged circle of mush-like dirt and scattered products.   _

 

_ Thomas froze as he spotted the woman sitting at the base of a tree, complementing dashing back into the woods before he felt his Uncle's hand drop heavily onto his sweating shoulder.  _

 

_ “Calm down there boy, you ain't gotta be worrying about her...she's already too dead to be much of a bother” _

 

_ Trailing his fingers down the length of his nephew flexed bicep, Charlie dug his fingers into his elbow and yanked on him impatiently; gesturing at him to step forward. Despite having a good eight inches taller on his uncle, Thomas followed him obediently with solemn-like shuffling.  _

 

_ “Now, There's a time in his life where a boy becomes a man, sometimes it happens when he kills his first deer, other times is when he lands his first job, but the most common way...heh, well, the most common way is when he loses his virginity….when I lost mine, I was about, oh, eleven I think? It was with yer Aunt Trixie, and it was in the barn on her family's farm...pretty sure she was about fifteen during that time, although don't tell her I said that though, she likes to pretend she's about three years younger than me…” _

 

_ Chuckling to himself fondly, Charlie ran his finger along his unshaven jawline as he studied the corpse at his feet, pushing at her ankle with the toes of his shoes. His smile contorted downwards into a disgusted sneer, anger pulsing in his pupils as he turned to look at his weary relative.  _

 

_ “Unfortunately, this whole town is filled with uppity bitches who think their shit smell like roses, who think they're better than anyone else and have the right to turn their noses up at you...So I couldn't get one of them out here to help me teach you some things...but lucky for me, I manage to find Ally here still fresh from her OD and all that willing to help us…” _

 

_ That was a lie. Charlie has approached Ally on her designated street corner and was willing to pay her for an hour with his nephew. She refused, telling him that no amount of money would make her touch his “Pig-Pen stinkin’ Ugly Fuck of a Relative”  _

 

_ Instead, he waited until she dipped behind the abandoned warehouse to fill her syringe with horse before snapping her neck and stuffing her into his trunk, driving her up to the forest near their home.  _

 

_ It was for the best anyways. She was just a used up old whore who was one cocaine line away from choking on her own vomit.  _

 

_ “Anyways, Ol’ Ally here is gonna help us into making you into a man, don't worry, I washed her down so she ain't gonna be passing anything onto you” _

 

_ Thomas stared silently at the woman before him, his fingers twitching at his sides as his breath became heavy behind his mask. A whimper building deep in his throat.  _

 

_ “Well, whatcha waiting for? Get on yer knees and unbuckle your belt, I ain't gonna be the one to do it for ya” _

 

_ His mind crackling like bacon grease, Thomas unhooked his belt as he clumsily fell onto his knees before the dead woman; his sweat pungent and thick in his nostrils. His senses became hypersensitive as he knelt before the corpse, the buzzing of a mosquito nearby seeming to crash over him in thundering drums; making him drunk with overstimulation.  _

 

_ The dead bitch had matted brunette hair and crooked teeth, her cheeks spiced with sores brought on by her drug addiction. She wore a cheap blue dress that was bunched at her waist, flashing him the bloomers she had underneath. He felt a hot flash of panic seeing the bared flesh before him.  _

 

_ “Now, a lotta of the women are either frigid or whores, but it really don't matter in the long run, cause sex ain't about sex, it's about power...it's about showing some bitch whose boss...so really, all you gotta do is get your dick hard and put it in whichever hole you want...and then just go to town...and if she's crying and whining, just ignore it and eventually she'll learn to shut up...go on and get your dick hard while I'm explaining Tommy, so you got something to do” _

 

_ Thomas hesitated, glancing hesitantly up at the man he looked up to for so long for guidance and comfort. Charlie smiled encouragingly back at him. _

 

_ “Don't worry boy, you got this” _

 

_ His praise rolling over him, Thomas took in a deep breath as he reached into his parted zipper and pulled out his member- (“cock, Tommy, you can call it a cock”) his cock, keeping his eyes on the forestline before him as he began to stroke it carefully.  _

 

_ “Anywho, where was I? Oh yeah, she'll be whining, but she'll shut up eventually, just focus on getting your shot in...now, Mama don't want you to bring any ol’ tramp into her family, so you gonna have to be careful about who you knock up...but, if you know she's the one, well, what better way to make her yours then to put a baby in her? Bed her, wed her, and make her all yours before she can protest, which is my Pops did with my Ma...besides, wives don't cry when you fuck them, they just see it as their duty...so now if you got your dick hard, you can stick it right in her cunt there...don't worry about warming her up or anything, she's dead so she ain't gonna be any more wet…” _

 

_ Thomas didn't really want to touch the woman, although more out of repulsion for her rather than the fact she was dead, but he wasn't going to disobey Charlie. His Uncle always knew what was best for him, even if it didn't seem like it at times. Often, what he said was true, or might as well be. Whenever he gave Thomas advice, he would listen to it carefully and struggle to remember it later on. Sometimes, some phrases or wordings would disappear from his mind, but he didn't mind. He remembers the most important ones.  _

 

_ ‘Cock. In. Screaming doesn't matter. Only wives get pregnant. The others die. Don't matter, don't matter, become man. Babies, wed, bed? Sex. Power. Hard?’ _

 

_ With trembling fingers, Thomas steadied his semi-hard cock against the corpse opening and pressed in; almost blanching at how cold she felt around him. Regardless, he thrusted in with a vicious snap of his hips as he clenched his teeth onto the tip of his tongue; perspiration stinging his irises. Ally head rolled back wetly at the jarring movement.  _

 

_ Thomas squeezed his eyes shut as he felt her cunt stretched full of him, this woman who hated him, and he thought of backing off then and there; to tell Charlie he couldn't do it- _

 

_ “Thomas” _

 

_ His eyes snapped back open to see (Y/N) laying underneath him, her eyes hooded and pulsing with uncaged lust. Her lips swollen and feverishly pink, as if she was kissed deliriously beforehand.  _

 

_ “Thomas….” She cooed, her voice husky with want as she reached upwards; running her palm along his heaving chest, “Thomas...Sweetheart, you feel so good in me...so big and thick, filling me up...my strong, handsome man….” _

 

_ A predatory-like growl escaped him at her touch, pressing into her deeper as his eyes darkened with feral-like possessiveness. His teeth dripping with drool as he lowered his eyes to see her cunt glistening around the base of his cock; unable to take him fully in. Pulling his hips back slowly, he slammed them into her once more without warning; causing her to whimper and arch against him.  _

 

_ “Oh god...Thomas...you feel so good…” she cried, “that's it Sweetheart...that's it...fuck me, make me yours…” _

 

_ His mind tumbling and becoming unhinged, he thrusted into her in long and brutal strokes, their skin becoming dewy with perspiration and slapping against each other audibly; the sound mixing in with his grunts and growls and her whimpers and moans. Impatiently, his fingers tugged at her dress until her breasts were free, sliding his tongue along the areola before taking it between his teeth; his moans muffled by her skin.  _

 

_ “Thomas...oh god...I want..I'm so close….please, finish inside me...let me have your baby…” (Y/N) mewled underneath him, “please...oh god, I want to...make me yours…” _

 

_ He brought his lips up to her parted mouth, pressing their sticky foreheads together as he felt his end swiftly approaching, gazing down at her through the curtain of hair that swung in front of his eyes; dripping sweat on her.  _

 

_ “Mine…” he hissed, roaring as his climax slammed into him; his cock twitching inside her. _

 

_ “Yours…” she gasped, her moans rising into pitched crescendos as he pressed his lips against hers; tasting death on her tongue. _

  
  


“Thomas! Wake the fuck up!”

 

An electrifying bolt of pain rioted along the frontal of his skull, causing him to open his eyes sluggishly; blinking rapidly against the faint lights outside his room. 

 

He was in the small cot they called his bed, with his arms and legs bound together with the handcuffs and chains they use to transfer him to the psychiatrist office; making him unable to so much as move without falling over. 

 

With Joe standing over him with two other men behind him, his baton resting peacefully against the palm of his hand as he sneered down at the chained giant. 

 

“I think you and I are due for a little talk…” he murmured, tapping the club playfully against the tip of his bloodied nose. 

 

The sky exploded with lightning.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Necrophilia. I wrote Necrophilia, I am both disgusted with myself but also surprised I managed to get through it. Kudos you creep.   
> Funny enough, I read in another TCM fanfic (forgot what was the name of it, I'll link it once I find it) where the Hewitts committed acts of necrophilia and I honestly see it as canon. Because if you don't have any problem eating a corpse, what is going to stop you from having sex with it?   
> Also, in a sick way, I just realized this was probably a bonding moment between Charlie and Thomas. Charlie undoubtedly having sex with the dead woman after and then taking Thomas out for a beer.   
> I also don't see Thomas as a virgin in the 2006 film but I also don't see anyone willingly sleeping with him, although I doubt he would have sex with any living person from his town anyways since they were so mean to him.   
> I wish I can say this is the last chapter touching on the matter but its the Hewitts, who knows what they'll get up to? 
> 
> Anyways, thank you all to everyone who read, comment, and left kudos! Thank you for taking a chance on my really morbid story and hopefully stick around for the future! 
> 
> Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6: Hold Me Close, Like A Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes together, but not for who we hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gruesome, explicit things happen, which is nothing new for Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but still deserves a warning!

**Chapter 6:**

**Hold Me Close, Like a Hostage**

  
  
  
  


 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Hoyt barely even blinked when Drayton and Weasel rounded the corner to stand before his cell, idly chewing away on a loose fingernail as he scrutinized the blubbering guard that was trapped between them; covered with gore that was splattered upon him when they pumped his friend full of bullets. 

 

“Seems like you done did a number on him,” he commented absentmindedly, spitting the piece of nail over his shoulder. 

 

“Nah, he was already blubbering the moment we put a bullet through his fat fuck friend's neck,” Drayton explained, “seems not to like violence that much, do you?”

 

“Puh-puh-puhlease…” the guard in question sobbed, cringing into himself as the rifle was pressed against his skull once again, “please! I got you to him! Please don't shoot me!”

 

“Sure, we'll won't long as you open the damn door for us,” Weasel promised as he shoved the man towards the cell, watching in amusement as he stumbled and smacked heavily against the metal bars.

 

The guard frantically pulled out his ring of keys and looked through them hastily before he settled on a large, brassy one; shoving it into the keyhole before yanking the door open for them. 

 

Hoyt swaggered out of the confounding space as he stretched his arms lazily over his head, scowling at how the orange jumpsuit he was forced into scratched madly at his skin.

 

“thank you so much, you fucking pig” he hummed as he took the shotgun that was handed to him by Weasel, ramming the butt of it into the blubbering man abdomen. 

 

The guard choked as he collapsed onto his knees, spewing bile at their feet as he clutched onto stomach with mewling moans. 

 

Weasel rolled his eyes in annoyance at the cowardly man before lifting his rifle to the guard's head and pulling the trigger; spraying the cell with his brains. 

 

“We didn't need him anymore anyways,” he grunted as he turned to gaze at his uncle, “he was such a weak little shit, sobbing and carrying on like that bitch from  _ Gone With The Wind”  _

 

“Never did like that movie,” Drayton murmured, “too melodramatic, and made us southern folk look like unholy little things”

 

“The only unholy thing here is you two blabbering on while we gots other jobs to do,” Hoyt huffed as he brushed past them, “Matter of fact, what's more unholy was how you two fucking survived against a dozen of guards and two weapons, I thought I told you to get back-up”

 

“Wasn't enough time,” Drayton replied as they followed close behind him, “besides, Weasel promised that this will be the better plan, some kinda gorilla attack”

 

“Guerrilla tactic,” Weasel corrected, “while I was on tour, the Cong did it regularly to us and wiped out half our platoons, so I thought if a bunch of slant-eyed gooks can do it, then hey, so can we”

 

“Well, seems like it went alright,” Hoyt begrudgingly agreed as they walked through the exit, “hopefully, it'll work twice in a row for where we're heading…you guys remembered the pack the thing I asked for?”

 

“All lubed up and filled with gas,” Drayton responded with a smirk; something dark glittering in his chilling stare. 

 

“Perfect...now, hurry up and get in the truck already,” Hoyt commanded, climbing into the driver's seat, “We still got one more important person to pick up...along with a few other things for tonight's dinner”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


The floor was startlingly cold against the warm flesh on Thomas cheek, throbbing with contradiction as it became moist with his huffing breath. The salty, iron taste of blood slick in the back of his throat; flowing in sticky rivets from his flared nostrils. 

 

He struggled to comprehend what was going on, to piece together how he ended up on the ground. Yet, his mind was slurred, addled with the sleeping pills and other medications they pumped him full with earlier in the night; spinning his thoughts out of his reach in lurching circles. 

 

He twitched, his heavy arms spasming against the tile as he strived to get himself onto his feet; only to be pushed down carelessly by Joe's heel. His heavy shoe pressing down threateningly into the space between Thomas shoulder blades; flattening his lungs against his ribcage.

 

“Not so fast, we ain't done with you just yet,” Joe tutted, dark amusement oozing in his tone, “Matter of fact, we're just getting started!”

 

The other two guards behind him, Steven and Rudolf, gave mocking snickers as their leader bent low next to Thomas; sitting back on his heels as he pressed his elbows into his knees in a casual stance. Bringing forth the rancid scent of hard liquor and stale cigarettes, puffing from the beefy man pores as if he was fermenting it through his sweat. 

 

_ ‘Hit. Hit? Weapon, bully, drunk, hit!’  _ Thomas thoughts stuttered, still too far away to comprehend. 

 

“You know….I never did like you,” Joe breathed calmly, “the moment you came here, you just rubbed me the wrong way...maybe it was because you broke one of my boys ribs cause he tried to touch your mask, or maybe cause you stank like a hog and had a brain of one as well…”

 

Thomas flinched as he felt the baton again, nudging against the skin on the nape of his neck and tapping gently against his skull. 

 

“You ain't the first case of cannibalism we had in this place, but that doesn't mean I can't be disgusted by your kind...backwoods, dirty, fucktards who probably would go on to inbred into extinction if the police never found you…” Joe continued, “Nah, your whole family deserves to be taken behind a shed and shot so you don't affect the whole town with your disgusting diseases...but unfortunately, the justice court decided that we have to  _ help  _ you instead, to reform so you can live among society again…”

 

_ ‘Bully? Hit, get up, hit! Bully!’ _

 

Joe leaned in until he was hovering over Thomas, his putrid breath cascading against his ear as he whispered, “You don't deserve to be living with normal people...I see you for who you really are...a worthless piece of shit that hacks up people cause his brain is too retarded to be much of use...absolutely fucking useless….”

 

Thomas fists tightened at his side, yet he made no move. He heard worse. He suffered worse. Miserably, he realized what was going to happen next; they'll taunt him, they'll say every insult they can think up of, before they get bored and decide to beat on him. The nurses were undoubtedly sent to other wards, so they had no supervision to stop them. They'll probably break some ribs, or even an arm. Then they'll wear innocent expressions the next day, acting like they don't know how he got injured. They wanted him to hurt. 

 

It was the same act he had to be in since he was in primary school, in the slaughterhouse, on the farm. He had to lay there and take it, like he took all the other beatings. Alone. 

 

_ (“I'm here for you Thomas, okay? I'm here for you”) _ __   
  


His eyes fluttered close as he remembered (Y/N) first words to him, how they pulsed like a vein inside his chest. She wasn't there, not physically, but she was in his mind; feverishly fleshed out against the kaleidoscope-like thoughts he had. Warm and bright in his arms, pressing her lips to his as she whispered about how much she loves him-

 

“ _ Pay attention to me, you damn retard!”  _ Joe yelled, his countenance molten with frothing hate as he brought the club down upon Thomas skull; sending him reeling against the ground once more. 

 

Thomas moaned as his teeth slammed into his bottom lip, splitting the skin in a even line that was salted with his blood; droplets of crimson smearing onto the tile below him. 

 

He grunted as Steven dug his fingers viciously into his curls and yanked upwards, twisting his fingers until the strands of hair were threatening to be ripped fully from his aching skull; his skin becoming alive with pain. His neck beginning to ache at the arch it was forced into, making him stare upwards at the speckled ceiling. 

 

“I think he's more focused on the wet dream he was having earlier, Joe,” Steven snickered, “Coulda swore he was moaning Dr. (Y/N) name when we walked into the room” 

 

“Is that so?” Joe sneered, malicious glee beginning to sparkle in his irises, “Don't tell me you gone and fell in love with her! That's really fucking rich!” A snort of mirthless laughter bellowed from his lungs as he went on, “I know you're really fucking stupid, but even  _ you _ should know you ain't got a chance with her!”

 

A growl echoed low in Thomas words as they spoke of (Y/N) in those mocking tones, his lips twisting away from his crimson-stained teeth in a proprietorial snarl as ire crackled true in his mind.  

 

_ ‘Protect? Protect. Mine. Mine!’ _

 

Stooping low until his countenance was hovering over Thomas's like an eclipse, Joe poked his cheek playfully as he purred, “Tell me Tommy, how did her tits look like in your dream? Were they as good as I fantasized or did they kinda look wonky-”

 

A roar, crackling with possessive anger, burst from Thomas throat as he lunge forward rapidly; sinking his teeth into Joe's jaw with the snapping finality of a viper. 

 

The room stilled for a moment, shocked into idiocy at the vicious nature of Thomas attack, aside from the gruesomely wet sounds of the patient's teeth slicing through meat and muscle. 

 

Joe shrieked once, a high keening of agony as he hit uselessly against Thomas skull with desperate fists; his limbs jerking oddily at the grotesque pain electrifying his every nerve. 

 

With a grunt, Thomas rolled away from Joe and out of Steven shocked fingers, a chunk of wiggling red flesh dangling from his chin before disappearing into his gnashing teeth; blood dripping from his lips into gravy-like tracks. 

 

Joe whimpered as he collapsed against the opposite wall, raising his trembling fingers to what was left of his lips; his tongue a red slash in the dark hole that was once his cheek. 

 

_ “ _ He ate my mouth….” He spluttered in agonized slurs, turning to gaze at the others with crazed eyes, “ _ he ate my fucking mouth!”  _

 

Steven, shaking from his stupefied stance by his co-worker's cries, realized he was suppose to be keeping Thomas subdued; pivoted hastily in time for the chains to be wrapped around his ankles and yanked upwards. Steven squawked as he fell onto his back heavily, the air being knocked from his lungs; leaving him momentarily stunned as he clutched onto his throbbing skull. 

 

“What the fu-UGH!” his moan of pain was gagged off as thick fingers were shoved into his open mouth; filling his throat with the heady smell of sweat and iron. 

 

Thomas pulled the boy back into his chest as he digged his fingers deeper into his throat, bile slicking his digits as he reached around and grabbed onto the bottom jaw of Steven's skull with his opposite hand; causing the guard to panic and thrash in his hold as he tightened his grip.

 

Flexing his arms, Thomas pulled each hand in the opposite direction with a brutal yank; a sickeningly snapping sound echoing in the room as he let Steven corpse slump carelessly to the floor. His shattered jaw yawning open bonelessly, his tongue slapping against his bloodied cheek. 

 

A gurgled growl rose from Thomas throat as he felt Rudolf slipped behind him and used his baton to choke-hold him; his boot slamming into Thomas thigh in hopes of subduing him. 

 

Thomas merely wrapped his hands around each of Rudolf biceps and swiftly pushed himself from his knees onto his staggering feet; falling back into the wall behind him with a thunderous boom. 

 

Rudolf screamed as his ribs were crushed under three hundred pounds of heavy muscle, his grip loosening from his choke-hold as he slid onto the ground; pressing his hands against his heaving sides. 

 

Thomas pulled himself away as he heard an item clattering to the ground, turning to see it was the club that was once around his neck. 

 

Rudolf eyes widened in horror as the giant beast of a man bent down to pick up the weapon, peddling his feet against the floor to push himself.

 

“No...No please…” He whimpered as Thomas advanced towards him with the baton raised high, “ _ No! No! NO PLEASE NO-” _

 

His skull cracked to the side as the club slammed into his temple, sending him flying into the floor as his teeth scattered along the tile. Thomas raised the baton over his head and brought it down once, twice, three more times before he lost himself into the bloodlust that polluted his conscious; his thoughts pulsing in black and red. 

 

The club broke in half in his grip, falling to the ground in bloodied twos as he struggled to right his breathing; gazing down at the corpse before him. 

 

It could no longer be classified as human, for its face was collapsed into a raw, bloody mess that could never be identified; pieces of its brain tissue and spinal fluid decorating the wall behind it. Its eyeballs popped open by the blows, dripping yellowish fluid onto Thomas bare feet as he stepped away. 

 

He cracked his chin to the side as he slowly turned to where he left Joe crying against the wall, his need for gore still throbbing excitedly in his throat. 

 

Except the man was gone, a puddle of blood marking where he once sat; dribbling along the ground in splashes and blobs as it looped out the open door and into the hallway; which was blaring with sirens. 

 

Thomas cocked his head once more as he stepped out into the flickering corridor, flexing and unflexing his fists as if unsure what to do. 

 

However, this was not true in itself, for he did have a vague sense of what he'll do next; coming to him warped and muddled through the flashing lights. 

 

Joe spoke of (Y/N) in a inappropriate way, he wanted to see her lady parts, or insinuated it. He ran away to find her, he was going to potentially hurt (Y/N).

 

Thomas refuses to let this happen.

 

‘ _ Mine. Protect. Mine’ _

 

He took off to find them.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


 

(Y/N) woke with a start as thunder cracked sharply outside her office windows, jerking her body upright as her arms flexed out instinctively; sending the stack of folders she was dozing off on tumbling to the ground with a muffled thump. 

 

Blinking her eyes rapidly as her mind struggled to unhinge itself from the sluggish subconscious of her dreams, she raised her fingers to rub against her throbbing eyelids; frowning down at her desktop. 

 

Several files were opened, with her handwriting scribbled amongst them in splotchy writing; several of them almost unreadable for she was nodding off while penning them out. Next to the open file of Myers laid a semi-dried puddle of liquid that glowed lazily under the dim lights. With great disgust, she realized it was her drool from when she unintentionally fell asleep while rewriting her work; some of it drying on her cheek still. 

 

Pushing strands of her hair away from her cheek that escaped her uneven bun, she flopped back in her swivel chair as she sluggishly reached for her cup of coffee once more; heaving a tired sigh. 

 

Normally, she didn't really care for thunder, but she felt rather grateful for it now. If it wasn't for it's shotgun-like boom, she would've slept right through her study and ended up with half-assed work the next day and a creak in her neck; something she couldn't add to the stress she was already under. 

 

Lifting her mug sarcastically to the ceiling, she murmured tiredly, “to Zeus, how thankful I am for your wake-up call” before finishing off the rest of her brew; grimacing at how cold it became. 

 

_ ‘oh yes, to Zeus and all his affairs…’  _ she thought bitterly as she brought the closest paper towards her, ‘ _ Womanizing asshole...the only half-decent Greek God there was is Hades, and he decided to kidnap a girl and keep her hostage with him for half of the year...how romantic’ _

 

_ (You'll have to eat the pomegranates one day Dear) _

 

She twitched at the random thought that echoed amongst her main one, seeming to be brought forth from the sludges of her memory like a haunted melody. 

 

_ ‘What the hell was that?’  _ She questioned herself, gazing blankly at her typewriter. 

 

_ ‘fatigue,’  _ her more logical side chimed hastily,  _ ‘'you been running on nothing but coffee and half a jelly doughnut for a damn near eight hours, you're going to have some incoherent thoughts due to lack of rest’ _

 

Has it truly been eight hours since she started the paperwork and neglected to get a proper meal? A quick glance at the clock on the wall opposite of her confirmed this, making her groan in misery as she slumped over. 

 

To throw herself completely into her work was nothing new for the ambitious woman, yet she always took some time for a break so she won't completely burn herself out in time for work the next day. Yet, this time she neglected one of her many rules she put in place for herself, to never tire herself out to the point where she begins to slip up on her strive. 

 

Her fingers cracked as she curled them slowly, trying to get rid of the ache that resided there; her lashes fluttering close as she worked out the kinks.  

 

She didn't have many rules, she liked to tell herself. At least, not more than any other sane individual. She never spoken them out loud, choosing instead to keep them close to her; to always count over them whenever she felt disingenuous to herself.

 

_ ‘Bite your tongue, bide your time. Don't become overemotional, keep them locked tightly until you need them. Always plan ahead, always find every alternative to your decisions. Don't let yourself slip. Adapt.’ _

 

She often thought of them whenever she felt panic rise thickly into her, when facing with a difficult decision. They always saved her. 

 

She cringed as she heard the thunder boom over her once more, sounding almost monstrous as it edged closer to her; reminding her almost of-

 

Her eyes clicked open as she swiveled to gaze at her locked door, her veins becoming solidified with ice as trepidation begin to throb in her; perspiration damping the nape of her neck. 

 

The thunder was hideously loud because it wasn't brewing inside another storm. It was out in the hallway. 

 

It wasn't thunder. It was a shotgun. 

 

The mug slipped from her numb fingers, shattering along her kitten heels and nicking the flesh of her ankle, but she barely felt it as she wobbled onto her feet. 

 

She twitched as the alarm begin to wail desperately in wavering bursts, signaling to all that danger was blooming high in their facility. Her room darkening for a split second before flickering on and off with crimson and ebony flashes, pulsing with every beat of the siren; warping her vision and making everything narrow down into pinpoints. 

 

Her bodice screamed at her for her to flee, to hide away until she help comes to save her. She almost listened to this instincts, but she couldn't yet. She needed to know what was actively happening so she knew what to do, where else to flee where there was no danger. 

 

Sucking in a wheezing breath, she braced herself as turned the lock and flung open the door. 

 

She yelped as her heel slipped in something slick on the ground, stumbling forward clumsily before reaching out and grabbing onto the wall; holding herself upright before she collapsed onto her rear. 

 

Rubbing her aching shoulder, she glanced down at the puddle of liquid and felt a scream bubble in the base of her throat. 

 

Even under the flashing lights, she could see the sludge-like streaks and splashes of scarlet decorating the floor of the corridor; several rakes of it thrown on several patches of the wall. 

 

Bringing her trembling arms close to her chest, she glanced slowly to where the remaining lumps of what use to be her co-workers laid strewn about; discarded as if they were nothing more than filthy laundry. 

 

A high, gurgling cry pitched from her throat in a wobbling note before she slapped her palm over her lips; tears streaming in blazing trails down her clammy cheeks 

 

Another cry, muffled by her flesh, slipped from her as she heard another blast go off near her, followed by horrendous shrieking that echoed around the bend; screeching against her eardrums like war drums. 

 

“Did ya really think you can escape us, ya dumb cunt?” A voice sang over the pitching wails, “don't worry, Tommy here is gonna finish you right up for the shit you did to him, so you won't be feeling that gunshot anymore!”

 

_ Tommy?  _

 

She felt something sickening wash over, begging her to turn tails and take off; to forget what she heard. She couldn't save whoever it was, for they were already half-gone. 

 

But she lurched forward instead almost robotically, her knees shaking terribly to the point where she had to continue holding onto the wall lest she collapse into herself. Her rational side kept screaming at her, to turn back, but it was too late; for she already turned around the corner and stood there in a petrified state. 

 

In time to see Thomas standing over Joe's crawling body with his back to her, the guard trousers splatter with the blood that was oozing rapidly from the gaping hole in his shin. 

 

Thomas was painted with crimson and the pinkish globs of someone's guts, standing vividly against the pristine, white clothing they provided for him. His shackles were gone, yet something metallic seem to be flashing in his clenched fists; gleaming grotesquely under the seizure-inducing flashes.  

 

“Go on boy, make him pay for what he's done to you!” The man in the orange jumpsuit demanded, “ _ make him fucking pay! MAKE HIM PAY!”  _

 

With a ear-splitting roar, Thomas raised what was in his hands over his head and pulled on the string attached to it; the weapon growling to life as sparks shot from its base. 

 

(Y/N) realized a split second too late that it was a chainsaw,  _ a fucking chainsaw _ , in his hands as he brought it down into Joe's heaving stomach; her screams being drowned out by the horrific sounds before her. 

 

Joe wailed as the metal teeth sliced through the soft flesh of his belly, the roaring of the machine becoming louder as it dug into his intestines and bones; splatter of gore rising up and spraying amongst everyone in close proximity. 

 

(Y/N) let out a wild shriek as she felt the droplets land sizzlingly-hot against her lips and jawline, falling back heavily against the wall as she smacked desperately at the blood; trying to scrub it raw from her flesh. 

 

It was then she realized that the chainsaw roars was cut off along with his screams, raising her eyes slowly to see them looking back at her now like ghouls; outline vividly with reds and blacks. 

 

Thomas stood to his full height as he spotted her lurking behind him, turning so he was facing her now with his arms held out to her; his pupils dilated and pulsing with something she couldn't place. She didn't  _ want  _ to place. 

 

“Mine….” He growled out, his tone heavy with possessiveness. 

 

“ _ What?”  _ Hoyt barked. 

 

She took that moment to run. 

 

She heard Thomas roar as his heavy footsteps thundered against the tile behind her, followed by the other man's lighter ones as he was shouting something; but it was muffled through all her panic as she forced herself to go faster. 

 

Several times she almost fell from all the blood puddles, yet she miraculously steadied herself as she flew through the corridors; jerking her way out of the path of several patients who escaped their rooms and were roaming the halls. She couldn't hear them, she couldn't even bring herself outside of her narrow-minded set on escaping. 

 

She turned to glance over her shoulder to see if he was still pursuing her, never seeing the figure standing before her until she crashed right into him; her lungs being robbed of all breath as vertigo made her stumble back. 

 

She yelped as he reached forward and grabbed onto a hunk of her hair, bringing him forward until she felt his breath moistening the flesh of her cheek. 

 

“Ain't ya a pretty one…” He purred against her neck, “My, I wouldn't mind having yous for dinner-”

 

His mocking tone rose into a scream as she drove her knee into his crotch before jabbing her fingers into his throat; making him drop her to the ground as he clutched onto his bruised airway. 

 

She felt something blunt hit the side of her head as she jerked around him, hearing her ear popping wetly before going mute; the blood trickling down her neck letting her know he slammed his fists into her head. 

 

Her vision swam as she lurched forward drunkenly to where the exit was, knocking herself forward against the door in desperation and collapsing onto her knees on the other side of them; the gravel erasing the skin on both of her knees as she pushed herself onto her wobbling steps again. 

 

The edge of her vision began to fade in slowly as she stutter-stepped towards her car as the rain poured heavily over her, both of her ears ringing separately as shock began to take hold of her; making her every movement seem like she was waddling through water. Bile rose thickly in her throat, tasting oddly of soured fruit. 

 

Her car was only a few yards in front of her, yet they seemed like miles as her limbs became heavier; her feet dragging along under her like cinder blocks. Her mind was clicking slowly down, a few seconds away from slipping into nothing, yet she begged herself to go faster, to stay awake so she can go-

 

Thick, callous fingers wrapped around her elbow and spun her on her heels, pulling her flushed against a broad shoulder that seeped with vicious body heat; warming her damp body against the icy waters. Her vision breaking apart to only see bits of his brunette curls and steel-like brown eyes, twitching weakly in his hold.

 

“No….” She whimpered, the shock finally capturing her in its sinister hold. 

 

“ _ Mine _ ” Thomas whispered. 

 

Her knees gave out and she slumped into his arms, giving into darkness. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm sorry if it came off pretty anti-climatic. I was going to write a longer piece putting more gore and violence, especially with Hoyt and Drayton, but I didn't really know how to work it in without it being all dramatic and overplayed. But don't worry, the boys will get their chance to shine in the spotlight.   
> Meanwhile, in a sick way, I find possessive Thomas kinda...adorable. Maybe not the whole, biting someone's face off and ripping off their jaw and bashing their head in, but it is sort of weirdly adorable seeing him stick up for someone he "loves" (*cough* obsessed with *cough*)   
> Also I hope you guys found Hoyt saying "what?!" After Thomas stops to catch the Reader as funny as I did. It's almost like he's saying "YOU HAVE ONE JOB THOMAS"  
> And also, oof, Hoyt doesn't seem so happy to see his nephew distracted...which will come to play in the next chapter *wink*
> 
> Anywho, sorry for the short and dull chapter, I try to make the next one make up for it! Please don't let that stop you from commenting on what you think I should fix or whatever you wish to say so I can strive to be better! And thank you to everyone who kudo'd, comment, and bookmark! I never thought I get this far and you guys motivated me to be my best! Thanks again!  
> Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7: Your Mother Said To Pick The Best Girl, And I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo, Thomas caught (Y/N) by her toe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All over the place, chapter was made on a sleep-deprived marathon between double shifts. So many spelling errors and mistakes, viewer discretion is advised

 

**Chapter 7: Your Mother Said To Pick The Best Girl, And I Am**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Luda Mae stepped out onto the porch once more as the screen door screech and slammed shut behind her, echoing eerily in the still air. She ignored it as she glanced hastily out to the beaten, dirt path they called a driveway, her teeth picking at a piece of loose skin on her thumb.

 

The storm has long since dissipated, yet the small patches of grass they had on their front yard glimmered with dew drops under the waxing moon; a toad croaking along in a somber melody with the cicadas.

 

Frowning to herself, she brought her fingers to her carton of cigarettes hidden in her apron pocket, but quickly dropped it. She already smoke five of them and she couldn't waste any more, not when they were further from the town than before.

 

She compromised with herself. If they didn't come in the next hour, she'll finish off the carton and deal with it another day. She knew she never be more anxious than now.

 

Instead, she chose to focus on the patch of rotting wheat on the edge of Drayton's farm, along with pitiful tangles they called the tomato vines.

 

It astonished her how Drayton's mother was the best farmer in Williamson who can grow almost every vegetable known to man, to the point where there was rumors about her being a witch. It wasn't true, since she was about as Christian as they come, all the way to her death bed. Despite how skillful she was in the garden, the talent didn't seem to be pass down to her sons at all, for the acres of vegetables they had were nothing more than withered sprouts.

 

 _‘I could probably help out with the crops since we be stayin’ here ‘till the police investigation is over,’_ she thought idly as she gazed at the dirt path again, _‘Never been much of a green thumb, but definitely can do much better than this’_

 

She knew she should be more patient, given how Drayton was kind enough to let them stay with him and the others until they can go back while also putting himself at risk to go rescue Charlie and Thomas. She also did know he did it more out of the thrill of breaking the law rather than loyalty, but she wasn't going to judge him for that either.

 

She didn't care what she had to do or say, as long as Thomas was back with her. She'll sell her own soul to the Devil if she has to, but she wants her fucking son back.

 

As if the Devil heard her polluting thoughts, there was a distant rumble as a grayish speck sparkled in the thickness of the trees; causing her to lurch forward with an eager stride. Her heart leaping into her throat and pulsing thickly; making it difficult for her to breathe.

 

Several minutes past before the van spluttered and wheezed its way up the driveway before screeching to a stop; giving one last stammer before it fell silent. The miles it was forced to glide through has taken a number on it.

 

Thomas lurched in his seat as he spotted his mother rushing towards the parked vehicle, his thick fingers scrambling at the door handle in haste to see her once again.

 

He felt a familiar hand clamped down onto his shoulder and yanked him back into his seat, causing him to curl into himself automatically; lifting his darkly-hued eyes to Hoyt's coldly-colored ones with hesitation.

 

“I want you to listen to me carefully boy…” He murmured lowly, casting a glance at his waiting sister, “I don't know what's with you and that bitch you made us go back for, maybe she's gonna be your new fucktoy which...well, good on yous, but we ain't gonna be mentioning her to Mama just yet; so I expect you to put her in the basement with the others until we get settled in, understood?”

 

Hoyt waited for his nephew to grunt and nod eagerly, like he did countless times before when he was given a direct order.

 

Thomas paused in his movements, his pupils darting anxiously around as if wishing to escape Hoyt's steady gaze; his meaty hands curling into fists in his lap as if suppressing his thoughts.

 

Hoyt scowled and pressed his fingers down harder, feeling the muscles of Thomas shoulder bend under his grip as he huffed out, “I said, _do you understand?”_

 

Thomas gazed back silently at his uncle for a few heartbeats before giving the smallest of nods; his brows resting heavily over his blank expression. Without another gesture, he pushed open the beaten door and heaved himself onto his feet; letting it slam shut behind him as he headed towards his mother.

 

Hoyt frown deepened as he watched him go, seeming to calculate something over in his subconscious.

 

A sob pressed itself on her tongue as Luda Mae flung herself into Thomas arms, squeezing her eyes shut as she clutched his shirt in her fists; the fabric seeping with her tears.

 

“Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…” She chanted, her voice cracking with relief, “Oh my beautiful, sweet, son...oh, you came back, I just _knew_ you come back...can't believe those bastards took you two away, but now you're back and everything is okay again, my innocent son….”

 

He whined as he felt her tears moistening his shirt, pressing his palms urgently through her coils of hair in awkward strokes; desperately trying to comfort her as much as he could.

 

He felt the same, vicious sense of comfort of being able to see her again after so long; muddled by all the medications the doctors forced him to swallow daily. In a way, he was relieved that they made him take all those mood stabilizers. Otherwise, he would've tore the place apart trying to get back to his Mama.

 

But it was okay, like she said. They were back, they were together again. He'll never leave them, and they won't with him. They'll go back to how they were before. A family.

 

Forever.

 

“Nice to see you ain't so torn up about your brother,” Hoyt grunted as he yanked open the door for Drayton and Weasel to come jumping out, groaning as they stretched their aching arms over their heads.

 

“Oh hush, I wasn't worried about you since I knew you can handle being on your own just fine” Luda Mae sniffed as she pulled away from Thomas's embrace; running her hand over her wet countenance.

 

“Really? I always imagined Charlie woulda been someone prison wife by the end of the month,” Weasel snickered, flicking off a piece of flesh from his sleeve, “well, two, if you can find someone to put up with your potty mouth”

 

His chortle died down into an exclamation as he was shoved against the van, blinking his eyes stupidly as he rubbed at his sore chest where Hoyt has jabbed him with his finger.

 

“It's _Hoyt_ , and it'll be a chilly day in hell when I let some faggot jammed anything in me for a packet of cigarettes,” Hoyt sneered, his jaw jutted to the side as if he was a bulldog, “‘Sides, I like pussy too much to be trading for anything else”

 

“Speaking of pussy, we should probably get the meat outta of the van and down into the basement before they come to” Drayton commented absentmindedly as he eyed the bodies still resting in the vehicle, “unless you guys in the mood for some hunting?”

 

Hoyt thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head and replying, “Naw, kinda tired from all the shit we pulled today, so I rather just shower, eat, and go to sleep before I done pass out”

 

“You're no fun…” Drayton grumbled as he reached into the open vehicle for the nearest body, clamping down onto it's blood-splattered calf, “Least tell me I get to have some fun when y'all finish having breakfast tom-”

 

He yelped as a brutal force was slammed into his side, causing him to let go and go flying into the dirt; rolling several yards onto his back in a dazed heap.

 

Thomas breaths bellowed out of him in snarls as he reached into the vehicle and pulled the unconscious bodice of (Y/N) into his arms with ease; curling her against his chest as if she was nothing more than a slumbering infant.

 

“What the _fuck_?” Drayton wheezed as he struggled onto his feet, Weasel bending over to help him.

 

“Thomas!” Hoyt snapped, as if struggling to heel a disobedient mutt.

 

Thomas flinched at his raised tone, his eyes darting about frantically as if fearing a punishment. Yet, his grip only tightened around the sleeping girl until her cheek was flushed against his beating heart; her even breaths fluttering against his throat.

 

“Mine…” He growled at the confused men, rolling his shoulders to his full height to loom over them all; as if daring them to take him on.

 

“Thomas, I swear to fucking God-” Hoyt hissed, cutting himself off as he felt Luda Mae hold her hand out to his chest in a quiet gesture to be silent.

 

“Of course it's yours Thomas, I make sure the boys won't touch her again,” she spoke soothingly as she smiled gently at him, “Next time, be polite and tell them instead of any roughhousing, alright? Now, why don't you get her inside while we handle the others? Okay, Sweetheart?”

 

Nodding his head hastily, he hoisted her higher in his hold to make sure she couldn't slip away and made way to the house; his crimson-splattered clothes camouflaging him into the night.

 

Luda Mae watched her son make his way back to the home with a neutral expression, her eyes gleaming like warning signs under the low moonlight; recognition curling her thin lips.

 

“What the hell was that?” Weasel questioned, his eyes still trained on his cousin retreating back with a confused frown playing on his cheeks.

 

“I think it's all kinds of trouble, if you ask me” Hoyt scowled, spitting thickly onto the soil beneath him.

 

“No...I don't think that's it…” Luda Mae murmured, glancing over at the rotting crops again; gleaming silver under the glistening stars, “I think it's something else entirely”

 

Around them, the cicadas began their cry.

  
  
  
  
  


 

* * *

 

  


Thomas pushed open the door to the guest room with one hand as he held (Y/N) to his chest with the other, pushing the door firmly behind him before lacing both of his arms around her; gazing down at her slumbering form in complete bewilderment. As if not believing she was truly there, being held in his arms.

 

He often fantasize about holding her like this before, often when drifting off in his cot-like mattress in the brink of twilight. How she would confess her love for him, before leaping into his arms and letting him carry her back to his home, where they will live in happily ever after like in the stories his Mama use to read to him.

 

She was warm in his arms, her nose brushing against his chest every time he inhaled; with her lips parted and puffing out her exhales against his flesh. The bun she often wore to work now loosened and spilling locks of her (H/C)-hued hair along her flushed countenance; several strands of it sticking to the swell of her lips. How they spilled over his arm and swayed to the ground, tickling his flesh with Its softness.

 

She seemed so small in his hold, his arms being able to wrap around her easily with room to spare. So fragile, knowing if he flexed his hold over her, he can swiftly crush every one of her ribs.

 

He carefully made his way to the mattress, laying her gently along the surface on her back, her arms falling to her side with the palms facing upwards; her knees bent over one another.

 

Brushing the strands of hair away from her eyes, he tucked them dutifully behind her ear as he seen couples do for one another on the television; groaning at how silky it felt under his fingertips.

 

Leaning down slowly, he took a handful of it in his palm and brought it forward; pressing it against his nostrils as he inhaled profoundly.

 

It was thick with the scent of fruity savor and spiced coffee, with the faint traces of perfume she often dabbed behind her ears before coming to work. She also smelled of iron and salt, from when she slipped through the puddles of blood. His mouth dripping by her scent, he pressed his countenance into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply once more; his arms coming around her until her hip was flush against his abdomen.

 

She was nothing like the women he was with before. Sometimes, when his mind flickered and dip low into despair, colored with shades of blue and gray, he become so desperate for touch. For someone to hold him close, to love him and chase away the sinking feeling in his stomach. His Mama would be the one to hold him and hum him songs, but it never chase away this feeling fully.

 

When his mind become too dark, he would unhook the newest corpse from the meathooks and bring it to his bed, clutching onto it as he willed all the bad thoughts to go away. Clinging onto the last bit of warmth they offered, never caring when he smeared bits of viscera all over his sheets. A few times, this worked, but they always went cold. They never sat up and wiped away his tears or pulled their fingers through his hair, whispering about how much they love him.

 

But now, everything was okay. Everything was going to be better, because (Y/N) is with him now. She is his, as he is hers, and they'll get married soon and have lots of babies to make Mama and Uncle Charlie proud.

 

At the thought of (Y/N) becoming swollen with his children, the fiery need crackled along the base of his spine once more; causing his breath to hitch behind the flimsy mask as he glanced down at her parted lips.

 

They were slightly chapped by the humid air, yet softly pulled into a pillow-like pout; pulsing with her heartbeat. Bringing forth his hand hesitantly, he skimmed his fingers along the swell of her cheeks, basking in her baby-soft flesh and feeling the ridges and rise of her puckered scar; dragging his touch alongside it until he reached the edge of her lips.

 

He pressed his thumb slightly against the curve of her bottom lip, groaning at how her tongue were slick between the gaping line.

 

His crotch was flushed against her waist, feeling himself slowly harden against the curve of her waist until he was panting against her jawline; his mind sizzling with lust as he curled himself around her.

 

His fingers crept forward until they rested against the stiff collar of her blouse, his thumb tracing the curved line of her collarbone with his digits following close behind; stroking her flesh gently as his hips rutted against the curve of her bottom.

 

She was so beautiful to him, so perfect that he wanted to break down and weep at her allure. He wanted to be with her, and be inside her. Needed to have her with him always, to cut her open and sleep next to her heart; breathing in her blood as he snuggled close to her organs. He wanted her, forever.

 

Even for someone as slow as him, he can see this. It was so _simple._

 

His moans were muffled by the surgical mask he still wore, beating against her throat as his hips rocked forward and stroked against her hip; his trousers becoming damp with pre-cum as his arousal begin to build.

 

The top button of her blood-splatter blouse popped off as his fingers slipped impatiently under it, hungrily stroking her soft flesh as he thrusted his crotch in an even, steady beat against her arse; his teeth baring against her jaw as his other hand slipped under her skirt.

 

He groaned as his palm came in contact with her cunt, heating his skin through the thin protection of her cottontails and causing him to salivate thickly for her flesh; his erection weeping with the need to be buried deeply in her.

 

Panting heavily, he pulled his hand away from under her top to move onto her countenance, curling his fingers along her cheek as he pressed his forehead against hers; his vision blurred with animalistic want as his hips began to thrust into a frenzied state.

 

 _‘Mine…,’_ he thought as lowered his lips to hers, _‘Mine….’_

 

 _‘Yours….’_ He remembered her saying, staring innocently into his expression as she said those words; glowing vividly against the static of his thoughts.

 

Her lips were scolding against his even through the mask, soft as a newly bloomed rose petals; causing the coil in his stomach to burst and send him spiraling over the edge.

 

His chest vibrated with his growl as his orgasm thundered through him, continuing to thrust against her until the final waves of it died down into a pleasurable throb. Struggling to calm his breath, he glanced slowly down to see a strand of glistening, white cum connecting between their trousers to one another; a small bite of satisfaction echoing in him at the sight of it.

 

Reaching downwards, he collected the beads of cums on to his fingertips; studying them for a brief moment before smearing them against the dip of (Y/N) collarbone. His eyes darkening at seeing her marked with his fluids, a predator-like urge rising thickly in his throat as he pulled her into his chest; burying her nose against her hair once more to suffocate himself with her sweet scent.

 

His. His, as he was hers. Forever.

 

There was a sharp knock on the closed door before it was shoved open nearly a second later, Hoyt's annoyed expression being visible through the small opening.

 

“Come on boy, we ain't got all day ya know,” he spoke, gesturing over his shoulder, “You can finish with her later, right now we need to get the other meat down into the basement and select one of them for dinner”

 

Reluctantly, Thomas pulled away from her sleeping form as he gave a timid nod; worriedly gazing back at her once more.

 

“Don't ya worry about her, ain't nobody gonna be messing with your property,” Hoyt grunted as he held open the door for his nephew, “‘sides, this just gives me the opportunity to remind you on how to discipline your woman and how she should be acting around the house…”

 

His words were becoming more sharp, signalling to Thomas that this was a command rather than a suggestion. His body reacted accordingly, snapping onto his feet hastily as he lowered his head submissively; flickering his eyes to the unconscious woman one last time.

 

He didn't want to leave her side, but he already disobeyed his uncle more than once, and he couldn't keep pushing his luck any further. As soon as he was dismissed, he'll come back to her once more.

 

Back to her. Always back to her.

  
  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  


_“How many of you here has read Oscar Wilde before coming to the university?” Professor Gillian questioned as he leaned against the edge of his desk, pushing his cuticles higher on the bridge of his nose._

 

_Only a handful of arms were raised in the air in the quiet classroom, with (Y/N) hand included after a bout of hesitation._

 

_“Alright, so most of you are familiar with him,” he nodded as he crossed his thin arms back over his chest, “Oscar Wilde was an Irish poet and playwright who became the most popular playwrights in London in the early 1890s, along with penning a few novels as well, most famously The Picture of Dorian Gray...which I hope many of you read for your english thesis”_

 

_(Y/N) has read the book before, but otherwise stayed silent._

 

_“There's actually a famous quote associated with Oscar Wilde, that I believe is my personal favorite,” he continued, “ ‘'Everything is about sex except sex itself...sex is about power’....what do you all think it means?”_

 

_“It means everyone is always horny?” A blonde-haired male blurted out, casting a childish smirk over to his friends who sniggered in response._

 

_“That's one of the interpretations,” Professor Gillian replied with ease, as if expecting a brutish response such as that, “anyone else?”_

 

_A timid girl with her teeth gleaming with metal raised her hand hesitantly, “is it...is it because we as a society is stigmatized by sex? That once you can control your sexual being, you have some hold over society? Some power?”_

 

_“Yes, that is one of the interpretations as well,” He agreed, “which is much closer than the last reply, so good job”_

 

_Out of the corner of her eyes, (Y/N) took notice of the blonde-haired man leering over at the mousey girl, nudging his elbow into his partner's side and jerking his thumb over to where she sat; a mocking grin curling his lips as they whispered something to one another._

 

_Their surreptitious glances made something coil hotly in her abdomen, the words rushing between her lips before she can stop them, “I agree with her statement as well, but I also think there's more to it”_

 

_“Oh? Do tell” Professor Gillian asked as he turned to face her fully, running his fingers through his silver curls._

 

_(Y/N) cheeks begin to burn as she saw several dozen eyes flicker to her direction, realizing it was much too late for her to stay quiet now. Clearing her throat, she pressed on, “I think what Oscar Wilde was trying to tell us...is that, ultimately, if you strip all the important things down to their bare essentials...well, it's nothing more than wanting power, isn't it? Even if we don't realize it, we all subconsciously strive for some kind of power...promotions at work...getting the best grades possible...relationships, It's all a form of control on life, for life can change at the single flip of a coin...even sex, because sex is as intimate as you can become with a person, it's when they strip down their soul and bare it to you...albeit it casual sex or romantic, it still involves you two at your most vulnerable...and whomever is in control of it, whomever can wield it just so, well, then that's powerful, isn't it? You can basically weaponize sex to your advantage if you know how to do it, and if you can handle doing that, then you can handle everything else...because if sex IS about power, and everything is about sex, then that means everything is about power, and how to use it for your own gains….isn't it?”_

 

_She can hear the boys muttering to each other, causing her cheeks to darken more deeply. Yet, she stayed turned away from them with her shoulders brought to her ears; struggling to calm her over-beating heart._

 

_Professor Gillian blinked once, twice, before giving her a boisterous grin as he spoke, “That...is actually an excellent analysis, Miss (Y/N)....”_

 

_Studying her for a brief moment, he pulled his gaze away as he turned to his chalkboard, bringing forth his chalk to write POWER & CONTROL in his wobbling handwriting. _

 

_“People believe that power is this big, monstrous thing that only dictators or organizations can achieve, when it's not true at all,” the Professor explained as he turned to gaze back at the class, “they also believe that once you have it, You'll always get to wield it, when strictly speaking, it's not true….it can be interchangeable, easily taken away if not careful...that's why many dictators use fear as their main tactic to intimidate others from not stealing it, that's why in this session I'm going to be discussing Josef Stalin reign of terror…”_

  


A wheezing gasp burst from her throat as her eyelids clicked open, her limbs jerking erratically as she peddled her feet until she was sitting upright; her head being thrusted into vertigo at her desperate movements.

 

She moaned despairingly as her equilibrium became disoriented for a brief moment, bile stinging on her tongue as she clutched onto her skull in a futile attempt to calm it.

 

Her eyes squeezed shut against the dizziness, she reached over to her nightstand; where she often kept her bottle of Advil close by with a glass of tepid water.

 

She was met with air instead, her fingers wavering around before dropping back to her side in confusion; causing her to open her eyes once more.

 

Her breath caught in her throat as the blurriness faded from her pupils, leaving her able to see clearly again.

 

The room she resided in was a bit larger than her bedroom in her apartment, but that's where the advantage ended. The walls were a muddy-like hue, peppered with water stains and spiderwebbed with cracked foundation; seeming to be one gentle touch away from crumbling into dust.

 

Across the mattress she rested on was a worn wardrobe that despite a few scars here and there, seem to be quite functional; the doors firmly shut close at whatever lurked inside. Next to it was another, much smaller room that upon closer investigation, was the bathroom based entirely on the rusty sink peeking out from the open doorway.

 

Besides a singular nightstand (the only shape of color in the godforsaken room; a cheerful pinkish hue that seem almost comical in the monochromatic place) that was pushed up against the wall with a crooked lamp sitting on top of it, the place was spared of furniture or anything else that could give it personality; the flickering light giving it an ominous glow.

 

Her chest tightening with foreboding, she slowly pushed herself onto her wobbling legs and pressed her fingers vividly against the sides of her head; As if willing her mind to work faster.

 

 _‘Come on, come on! Think!’_ She urged her racing thoughts, struggling to connect the pieces together at a rapid pace; the need to vomit rising up once more.

 

She was...she was at her office, she remembered struggling to finish the filing on time. She then...she then fell asleep, only to wake up the alarms going off...and thunder. No, not thunder...it was-

 

Her throat flattened into a pinpoint as she gazed blankly ahead; a muffled whimper escaping her as horrified realization rested heavily on her expression.

 

It was gunshots. Her co-workers were slaughtered, by a mad man and...and Thomas. She remembered fleeing, the gore and pulsing lights and shrieking patients before she made it outside, only to be stopped by him. She only remembered a brief flash of being placed in the back of a vehicle, alongside several other bodies, before she surrendered herself to unconsciousness.

 

She was kidnapped.

 

She was _kidnapped_.

 

A stammer fell from her lips as she sat down heavily on the bed, tears beginning to sting at the corner of her eyes as she held her trembling arms close to her chest.

 

She soon shot back to her feet as she turned her head to and fro, seeming to be analyzing the confinement she was placed in.

 

 _‘focus!’_ her subconscious barked at her once again, ‘ _now is not the time to let your emotions get ahead of you, you need to think clearly. You need to find a way to escape before you're chopped up and made into dinner, go try the door to see if it's unlock’_

 

Following her own commands, she stutter-stepped forward to the doorway and turned the rusted door knob slowly and pulled; sagging in relief when it easily gave away.

 

_‘Good, it's unlock, check the hallway to see if its empty before heading for an exit; make sure you walk with light steps...it's an old house, so it will make noise if you place too much weight in certain places’_

 

Swallowing the thick phlegm resting between her teeth, she pressed forward hesitantly; her pupils darting quickly around the corridor to see if danger was near. Her palms trembling increasing into seizure-like patterns, making her press them firmly into her skirt.

 

Nothing.

 

Through the terror pulsing in her mind, confusion begin to bubble as well.

 

If she was kidnapped, why would they willingly put her in a room with an unlocked door? Furthermore, why would they leave her by herself?

 

 _‘'it could be a trap…’_ Her thoughts offered as she walked silently along the corridor, ‘ _even if it is, we still have to find the exit so we can risk escaping, now stay quiet and go faster’_

 

She rounded the corner to find her on top of the staircase that descended crookedly to the first floor; crouching low at her waist as she steadied herself down the steps.

 

The hallway was meticulously filled with more lights than the room she was kept in, throwing elongated shadows across the aquamarine-hued walls gleaming with mismatched knick knacks.

 

Off to the right of the stairwell stood a doorway that had several shadows moving about as muttering began to reach her once she crept closer, causing her fingers to tighten around the banister.

 

She cringed into herself as she heard a wail roll from the doorway, the shrieks seeming to rise higher until she felt like they were on top of her.

 

_“PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP MEEEEE!”_

 

The scream died down into a whimper of pain as the crack of flesh meeting flesh boomed out, followed by a man hissing, “Ya keep yer whore mouth shut and let Mama finish up her cooking or else I'll put a hole in ya skull and fuck ya through it!”

 

(Y/N) began to feel trepidation coil in her stomach as she realized that the front door was at the foot of the staircase, which was in direct sight of the room those monsters were lingering in. She couldn't walk through it without them seeing her, nor could she go back upstairs and risk being cornered there.

 

 _‘Just go for it!’_ Her panicked, less analytical side screamed, ‘ _Who knows when there be another chance like this? Take it!’_

 

 _‘No! It's too fucking risky!’_ the other part of her mind barked, ‘ _We don't know how many of those bastards are there, or if they have weapons! We need to think of another escape route!’_

 

(Y/N) didn't pause to listen this time, adrenaline flooding her as the reptilian part of her mind was switched on; filling her limbs with crackling energy and causing her to fly down the stairs without a second thought.

 

She stumbled and fell against the wooden entrance, her fingers clawing at the handle before successfully unlocking it and flinging it open; launching herself out frantically.

 

She shrieked as the looming figure appeared before her through the swirling fog, filling the doorway with his frame as his apron dripped blood onto the porch below him; seeming to have risen from the depths of Hell himself.

 

She pivoted on her heels, planning to dash off into a new direction of the house in hopes of finding a backdoor. A scream ripped from her throat as she felt Thomas arms wrapped around her waist and slammed her back into his chest before lifting her easily off the ground; her legs kicking frantically in the air as her hands slapped against his forearms.

 

“NO! NO, LET ME _GO_!” she cried as she was carried back into the house without any strain from him, as if she virtually weighed nothing to Thomas, “I SAID LET ME GO!”

 

He merely ignored her protests as he slammed the door behind them, shuffling forward with her withering form until they entered the room she avoided; walking over to a empty chair and dropping her into it.

 

(Y/N) pushed herself onto her feet once more, before being slammed down heavily by Thomas yet again; his fingers pressing into her shoulders tightly as he growled warningly at her disobedience.

 

The flight-or-fight mode now seeped from her body, she gave in as she curled into herself tightly; bringing her arms to her chest in an attempt at protecting herself.

 

Before her, an elderly woman stirred what seemed to be a stew inside a iron pot as she smiled surreptitiously at the trembling psychiatrist; her pupils flickering from her to Thomas, who held onto the woman tightly as if never letting her go.

 

“Well, you must be my son's soon-to-be wife…” Luda Mae beamed, “you woke up just in time for dinner”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys believe I wrote this while I was listening to the No-No Square song? Which...in hindsight, would go along with what Thomas did to the Reader while she was asleep. God, now I can't stop imagining her finding out about and she just goes "Trying to touch my square takes a lot of nerve, why you trying to creep, you freaky deeky perv!"  
> Oh god...I let myself out.  
> Also, I'm sorry you guys thought this chapter was anti-climatic and was hoping for more of the family. The next chapter will cover them even better and how they react to the reader there.  
> But anyways, I be heading off to bed now. If you guys have any questions, please, feel free to ask!  
> Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8: We'll Cut You Up, And Have You For Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has to prove his loyalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no excuse for this chapter so if there's anything you wish to criticize, by all means, go ahead. Viewer discretion is advised

**Chapter 8: We'll Cut You Up and Have You For Dinner**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“....Wife…?” (Y/N) whispered faintly, t he words stammering from her shivering lips, “what...what do you mean…. _ wife?”  _

 

Her stomach tightening into a coil that brought sharp bursts of bile to cascade into her throat, She let her eyelids flutter close as she struggled to calm the riot in her abdomen; her trembling fingers tightening into fists as she desperately try to steel herself. 

 

_ ‘please...please let this be a dream…’  _ She thought in utter panic, ‘ _ please, let me back at my office, still sleeping away at my desk...I swear, I start going to church more...I donate to charity...I help old ladies cross the street every time, but please oh God please, please let this not be real…’ _

 

A whimper escaped her as she felt Thomas pull his hand away from her shoulder, expecting a blow to reign upon her that would cease her existence. 

 

Instead, he pressed his fingertips against her jawline and lightly traced them along her flesh; drawing rough circles on the swell of her cheeks as the callus pad of his thumb cup along the underside of her chin. With a simple tug, he pulled her back until her left cheek was flushed against his stomach, resting his heavy arm along her shoulder as he entwined his thick fingers into her strands of hair; running them softly through the locks. 

 

She didn't fight against his gentle touch, despite how her fear spiked as he held her against him; knowing fully well it wouldn't end well for her. 

 

Through the trepidation clouding her thoughts, it dawned to her at how ironic this was; for not even a fortnight ago, she was holding onto him in a similar fashion to calm him down. Now, it was flipped; making her the one that needs to be comforted. 

 

_ ‘Irony, thy art a heartless bitch!’  _ Her thought laughed, her fear coming out as insanity,  _ ‘Or perhaps it's karma for leading a mentally impaired man on? What says you, you dastardly serpent?’ _

 

“...Well, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself there,” Luda Mae admitted as she grinned at the cowering woman, “But the way Thomas went on and on about you, I knew you two would get married eventually, so ain't no harm in calling you his wife this early, ya know?”

 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say to this, choosing instead to scrutinize the older woman instead. 

 

She had an average height with a plump built, wearing a shift that hung loosely on her frail frame. Hair the color of unpolished silver was pulled severely into a tight bun; pulling the jowls of her jaw back until there was a feline-like tilt to her eyes. She was startled to see instead of the burnt umber-hue that was Thomas irises, she instead had eyes that seemed to be leaked of all color except for the faint tint of blue; the pale hue you would find inside blocks of ice. 

 

They held something in them too. Despite how she smiled acceptingly at the pair before her, there seemed to be an almost analytical gloss to them; seeming to turn thousands of thoughts within a fast pace. 

 

Before (Y/N) can study this further, Luda Mae wiped her hands against her apron as she jolted forward, jolting her palm out to her as she beamed, “where are my manners, my name is Luda Mae, Thomas mother”

 

She studied her outstretched hand for a brief moment before cautiously taking into hers, giving it a quick shake as she murmured, “I'm...I'm (Y/N)(L/N)...Thomas psychiatrist” 

 

“Oh, you're so much more than his psychiatrist, Sweetheart,” Luda Mae simpered, “why-”

 

The door behind her flew open with a vicious boom, causing (Y/N) to flinch in Thomas hold; whom tighten his arm around her protectively as his chest vibrated with a low growl. 

 

Her breath stuttered out her throat as the man from before came trudging out, holding a tied up Amy close to him; who was struggling desperately to be released. 

 

The blonde-haired woman looked more haggard than (Y/N), her nostrils crusted with dried blood as the patch of flesh under her eyes were rapidly turning purple; as if hit in the nose with a blunt force. Her nurse uniform was torn in several places, the hem of her blouse ripped until the swell of her breasts were visible. It was clear she was beaten into submission. 

 

_ ‘At least Thomas hasn't done that to you just yet,’  _ Her clinically cold inner thought claimed,  _ ‘We can be grateful for that, at least’ _

 

_ ‘The only thing I should be grateful for is my freedom,’  _ she challenged,  _ ‘and I don't even have that’ _

 

“That there is my brother, Charlie” Luda Mae explained as Charlie dragged Amy to the chair and slammed her down, quickly placing her bounds around the armchairs, “Monty, my other brother, had his meal early so he is taking a nap at the sofa, but y'all meet him at breakfast”

 

“Name is Hoyt,” Hoyt grumbled as he pulled away from the sobbing woman, “I gotta go downstairs and get the other bitch up, so you stay right there and shut yer blubbering”

 

“Please…” Amy pleaded, before crying out as Hoyt backhanded her; her nose flowing blood once more. 

 

“Not another fucking word, or I'll have your tongue for dessert!” He growled, before pivoting on his feet and disappearing through the doorway once more. 

 

(Y/N) gazed across the table at her sobbing co-worker, who was slumped over and dripping tears and blood onto her bowl of stew; seeming to be lost in the world of pain she was in. 

 

A small bite of selfish relief echoed in her. It was cruel to think this, but she was glad to see Amy here as well. To see another familiar face, who can help her plan an escape. 

 

_ ‘'or at the very least, take most of the brunt punishments,’  _ her thoughts bluntly statement,  _ ‘'why else would he keep a pretty blonde like her around?’ _

 

_ ‘stop that, that's cruel!’  _ She snapped back

 

‘ _ But true,’  _ her thoughts retorted easily,  _ ‘think about it, you lot haven't been turned into stew like that poor soul who is bobbing around in your bowl, what other reason would they keep you two still alive?’ _

 

She knew this to be true, but she pushed it away quickly. She had enough anxiety in her system already, knowing the thought of being raped by any one of those awful men would cause her to have a mental breakdown. 

 

Hoyt came stomping through the doorway once more as swiftly as he left, carrying a slumped over figure that she quickly realized was Helene: who seemed on the verge of fainting. 

 

He didn't seem to bother to tie her up, choosing instead to lean her back in her seat until her head roll back and exposed the long column of her throat; beads of crimson rolling from the corner of her lips. 

 

“Where's the rest of the bunch?” Luda Mae questioned as she handed him his dish, raising one brow high. 

 

“They ran off to drop some of the meat off at the gas station since we ain't got much room for it,” he replied as he bite slovenly into his bread slice, chewing noisily as he reached for his spoon. 

 

His eyes soon settled on (Y/N) across from him, causing his countenance to become creased with contempt as he scowled at her. 

 

“Tommy's bitch finally woke up?” He questioned as he straightened his spine, his lips twisting back in a snarl-like gesture. 

 

“She ain't her bitch, ya know,” Luda Mae scolded her sibling, “she's gonna be his wife, isn't that right Thomas?”

 

(Y/N) felt Thomas nod as he gripped onto her hair a bit more tightly, making her wince. 

 

Hoyt barked out a chortle as he slammed his fist down onto the table, wheezing out “his  _ wife?!  _ His wife-oh, what a crock of shit! She ain't his wife! She's just some high and mighty little cunt who got his head filled up with moonshine! Before you know it, she's gonna make him turn against his own kin!” 

 

“Thomas would never do that!” Luda Mae snapped, jabbing her finger at her fuming brother. 

 

“Oh yeah? What about out in the yard when he attack Drayton for touching her?” He reminded, “or how about I directly ordered him to put her in the basement, but he instead chose to ignore that as well? Huh? How long before he flat out stops listening to either of us and listens to her instead? How long before she convinces him to kill us all?” 

 

As his voice rose, his cheeks became flushed with molten-hot anger as he turned to glare up at his nephew, growling out, “What boy, ya gonna be trading us in for her? She doesn't really love ya! She's just like the rest of the bitches who fucked with ya growing up! She'll be laughing and pointing at ya in no time, breaking yer heart like it meant nothing to her!”

 

Thomas shoulders were beginning to quiver dangerously at his Uncle's words, his eyes filling with uncertainty as he gazed down at the female in his arms; shaking his head rapidly.

 

“Oh, so you're denying my words again, huh? Yer denying your  _ own  _ blood's words?” Hoyt spat as he thrusted himself onto his feet, “so you're already starting to turn on us now? Is that it? Yer choosing that bitch over us?!”

 

Thomas shake his head even more frantically, desperate for Uncle Charlie to see he would never hurt his family in such a way. Yes, yes, he defied his orders earlier but it was only  _ once _ . His family is everything to him. 

 

“Charlie-” Luda Mae hissed

 

“Then prove it!” Hoyt barked as he reached for something against the wall. 

 

To (Y/N) horror, it was the chainsaw that Thomas carrying earlier at the hospital; dripping with pieces of gore that made her throat become slick with vomit. 

 

“Prove to us that you still our kin…” Hoyt snapped as he thrusted the chainsaw into Thomas chest, “ _ kill the bitch” _

 

“No…” (Y/N) whimpered, squirming in her chair, “No!”

 

Thomas shook his head once more, but Hoyt merely shoved the weapon harder against his chest until his nephew took it in his hands; staring down at it with agonized eyes. 

 

“Charlie!” Luda Mae yelled

 

“Go on Thomas! Kill the bitch!” Hoyt screamed, “Kill her! KILL HER! FUCKING DO IT, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

 

(Y/N) shrieked as the engine began to start, the metal teeth whirling to life dangerously close to her head. 

 

He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her in front of all these people as a sacrifice for his loyalty. She was going to die.

 

_ ‘talk!’  _ her thoughts yelled at her, ‘ _ talk, damn it! Convince him not to kill you! Goddamnit, talk!’ _

 

“ _ KILL HER!”  _ Charlie howled

 

“STOP IT CHARLIE!” Luda Mae screamed

 

Thomas raised the chainsaw high over his head, gazing down at her with glossy irises.

 

_ ‘TALK!’  _

 

“Thomas! THOMAS, DON'T!” She pleaded, “you promised me I was yours! You promised me forever!” 

 

His arms wobbled, tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. 

 

“Yours!” She cried, “I'm yours! And you're mine! Please Thomas! Don't-”

 

He growled as he swung his chainsaw in a wide arc, aiming for her throat. 

 

(Y/N) screamed as the chainsaw missed her by a centimetre and instead buried into Helene chest; pieces of bone and viscera heaving upwards and splattering them all in its thick hold. The woman gurgled out a dying scream as her body was torn from her collarbone to her navel, ropes of slimy intestines squishing out and slapping against the floorboards in wet thuds. 

 

She watched this happen with frantic, bulging eyes as she watched the life snuff out from Helene's irises, her throat becoming raw with the horrific shrieks ripping out from her lungs; rising with the chainsaw roars in a haunting melody.

 

Thomas dropped his chainsaw carelessly as he turned back to (Y/N), gathering her into his arms as he cradled her to her chest desperately; pulling his crimson-stained fingers through her hair once again. 

 

“Mine...mine…mine...” he breathed into her ear, tightening his arms around her shivering form as he brushed his masked lips against her forehead. 

 

(Y/N) let him hold her as she struggled to calm her racing heart, fearing she will break down right there and might even give herself a heart attack; shock numbing the tips of her fingers. 

 

“Why you-” Hoyt growled

 

“That's enough!” Luda Mae cut him off, glaring over at her brother, “you best leave that boy alone before I hit you with this damn skillet!” 

 

Hoyt wisely stayed silent. 

 

Stepping forward, she pressed her hand against Thomas forearm as she murmured soothingly, “it's alright sweetheart, why don't you two head up to your room? It's been a long day and you two undoubtedly are tired...there should be some clothes up there for your baths if you need them”

 

Thomas grunted before turning and making his way up the stairs, holding the quivering girl close to him as if fearing of being robbed of her. 

 

Hoyt waited until he heard them disappear onto the second floor before hissing out, “what the hell Mama? That bitch is nothing but tro-”

 

Luda Mae whirled around and backhanded Charlie viciously, sending him wheeling back against the table with his palm over his split lip. 

 

“You ever put my boy through emotional torture like that ever again, and I'll cut off yer testicles and feed them to the pigs,” she snapped, “now clean up this mess before it spoils”

  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


She didn't dare to move a muscle as Thomas carried them back to the room she was once in, fearing any sudden movements will bring on dire consequences. 

 

_ ‘I almost died…’  _ she thought numbly as he pushed the door close behind them,  _ ‘he almost killed me, I almost became their breakfast…’ _

 

But she didn't, she was still alive because of...because she agreed to be his. God help her, she used his obsession to save herself. She managed to talk herself out of dying, so why did she feel like she signed her death certificate? 

 

_ ‘that's because you essentially told them all that you belong to Thomas now, which will fuel his possessive nature of you into greater heights,’  _ her thoughts dryly stated, ‘ _ if you only listened to me, and found another way to escape, this wouldn't have happened...you wouldn't have seen a co-worker of yours die so brutally...but you did, and now here we are...so what now?’ _

 

She needs to find a way out. She'll speak with Amy and whomever is down in the basement into thinking of an escape plan, work together to get out of there. For now, she'll have to play along with Thomas, and hope to whatever deity is watching over her for this night to end peacefully. 

 

She snapped out of her pondering as she realized Thomas has led them into the bathroom, where he gently placed down onto the toilet. He turned to the ancient, claw-foot bathtub as he turned on the faucet; rapidly filling it with lukewarm water. 

 

She eyed the open door before her, before quickly dismissing it. He was quicker than her, and the bedroom was undoubtedly locked. 

 

She recoiled as he turned to face her, his height seeming to stretch on for eons as he scrutinized her bloodied form; making her vividly remember the storybooks telling of giants that would eat children whole. 

 

_ ‘which isn't so far from the truth’ _

 

She stiffened as she felt his fingers brush against the front of her blouse, fumbling with the buttons between his slippery fingertips. She reached upwards to cease his movements, but he merely pushed her hands away as he worked at her top; already unfastening them at a rapid pace. 

 

Her blouse slipped from her trembling arms and onto the ground below, pooling onto the tile as she was left in her brassiere. Her breath caught in her throat as he knelt before her, watching as he pulled off her heels and dropping them carelessly along with her stockings. 

 

She twitched in his hold, protesting weakly with soft shoves, but he managed to work her out of her skirt and cottontails; tugging at her brassiere with a single snap until it collected with the others. 

 

She quickly crossed her arms over her bare breasts as she brought her knees upwards, struggling to cover her naked groin as he reached upwards and loosen her hairdo until  it fell around her shoulders in frizzed strands; stiffened into pinpoints by the amount of blood covering her. 

 

She flinched away as Thomas reached out to her, but he merely caught her again in his arms and lifted her off her feet; settling her down in the welcoming water. 

 

The steam rose up and engulfed her trembling flesh, warming her skin deliciously as several of her tense muscles unclenched; the aftermath of shock in her system slowly melted away. 

 

Despite at how her body was relaxing, her mind was the opposite; racing rapidly as it was finally released from the threshold of fear. Her countenance was a mask of indifference however, her eyes trained on the man before her with paranoid focus. 

 

Thomas had rolled up his sleeves as he knelt next to her, reaching over to grab the bar of soap and cup that was resting on the wall across from them. He dipped the cup into the water until there was a generous amount before he moved to wet her hair with it, the soap ready in his other hand. 

 

She reached upwards and grabbed onto his wrist, stilling his movements as she whispered, “I can...I can wash myself” 

 

He grunted and shook his head at her, as if disagreeing with her sternly; before pushing her hands away once again. She gave in, due to the fact the adrenaline has leaked out of her body entirely; leaving her aching with fatigue. 

 

She closed her eyes as he poured the water over her head gently, cringing as the bits of intestines slid down the length of her neck and into the water; tickling at her flesh as if mocking her for her cowardice.

 

She should've done something to help those people being slaughtered, she should've found a way to fight back or get help or something. But instead, she just gave into her fear and ran away, choosing the pathetic way out. 

 

_ ‘Don't be so hard on yourself,’  _ her thoughts warned,  _ ‘they were being a slaughtered by a beast of a man with a chainsaw, who had three other lunatics as backup, if you took them on, you wouldn't be seen as a hero but as an idiot...you only did what you could, which was save yourself..yes, you failed, but at least you still alive to tell the tale’ _

 

She cringed again as she felt Thomas fingers against her scalp, but he seemed to ignore her vivid distaste of his touch as he worked the soap through the strands of her hair as gently as he could; working the suds carefully until it went pink with the leftover blood still left on her. 

 

She hated this. She hated how powerless and vulnerable she felt, being so openly exposed to the man who murdered her co-workers, and kept her hostage her with him. How he easily stripped her down into nothing, laying her bare for him. It was her nightmare come to life, and she couldn't blame no one but herself, for she was the one who led him on. 

 

_ ‘Don't think that,’  _ her subconscious barked at her once more,  _ ‘don't you ever blame yourself for being kidnapped, there's no room here for self-loathing, only for finding a way to get out of here without losing an arm or leg’ _

 

She held her breath as she felt the bar of soap at the base of her neck, being swirled in patterns against her flesh as the suds ran thickly down her torso; her nipples raising into hard peaks. 

 

“Are you going to rape me?” She blurted out without thinking, as his hand descended lower onto the swells of her breasts; running the bar fluidly over skin.

 

His irises flickered upwards to meet her gaze, his brow pulled low over his eyes in utter confusion. 

 

“It's...rape...are you going to do it to me?” She whispered, pleading for an answer as he merely scrutinized her. Her heart skipped a beat when the puzzled expression didn't leave him, realizing he didn't understand her. 

 

_ ‘he doesn't know what rape is,’  _ she thought despairingly,  _ ‘he didn't realize murder could be bad, so why what would be different than rape? How would he stop himself from doing a heinous act if he didn't know it exists?’ _

 

“It means...having sex with me without permission,” she went on, “it's wrong Thomas, like killing, and you shouldn't do it, okay?”

 

He didn't answer her, nor did he make clear signs he agreed with her. Choosing instead to dip the bar lower, running it along her navel and down to her waist; making her clutch onto the edges of the bathroom tightly. 

 

His breath seem to quicken behind his mask as he reached the junction between her thighs, the small curls of hair tickling the palm of his hand. He watched in fascination as the bar of soap glided over her soaked curls, at the slit that was yawned open to him. His thumb skimming along the edge of her vulva, lust-filled curiosity beginning to fill his mind. 

 

her heart threatening to explode in her chest out of sheer panic, she jerked her crotch away from his wandering hands, stammering out, “I'm clean! I'm...I'm clean, so I-I should be getting out…”

 

Struggling to keep her legs from trembling too visibly, she quickly climbed to her feet before Thomas could stop her; reaching for the towel that hung next to the bathtub and wrapping it around her torso. She couldn't spot a second one to wrap around her hair, so she bend over and wringe the wet strands until it was slightly dry; stepping out of the bathtub gingerly as she reached for her undergarments. She felt a bit disgusted at the thought of wearing them again, but knew she had no other choice unless she was willing to sleep without them. 

 

And with the characters inside this house, she didn't want to risk that. 

 

Thomas had pushed himself onto his feet as he stood behind her, staring at how the droplets of water ran down the length of her neck and onto her shoulder blades; slithering along her soft flesh in a teasing movement. His breathing catching in his throat once more. 

 

She clutched onto the towel tightly to her chest as she walked quietly into the bedroom, standing next to the mattress awkwardly as he turned away to pull open the wardrobe; rummaging through the few pieces hanging from the banister. 

 

He came towards her holding a steel-colored men's button down that seemed much too large for her, but it was better than sleeping in only her undergarments. She took it in her hands as she murmured a small thank you, her eyes focused on a droplet of gore on his shoulder. 

 

She turned away from him as she sucked in a shuddering breath, knowing fully well he wasn't going to leave the room to give her some privacy. Dropping the towel onto the ground, she hastily pulled on her undergarments as quickly as her quivering limbs would let her; feeling his stare on her back the whole time. 

 

She soon slung the button-up onto her shoulders, buttoning every single button to cover as much flesh as possible. It was a pathetic piece of clothing, the cotton of it itching her bare flesh and hung unflatteringly on her frame; falling down in a clumsy line across her knees. She suspected this to be one of Thomas's, for it reeked of a faint tinge of perspiration and spiced hay, but she didn't voice this thought. 

 

She stood there stiffly as she heard the shuffling of his heavy footsteps coming closer, slamming her teeth into her bottom lip as she felt his breath ghosting against her exposed neck; her skin becoming alive with goosebumps. 

 

She squeaked softly as his chest pressed into her back once more, yet he paid her no mind as he loped his arm along her stomach and pulled her against him; the soft curve of her bum sliding against the sweltering heat of his erection as he buried his countenance into the crook of her neck. 

 

She swallowed the whimper bobbing in her throat as she felt his cock probing against her flesh, fixating her stare onto the opposite wall as he inhaled her scent; waiting fearfully for him to ravage her then and there. 

 

Instead, he tightened his hold on her bodice as he lifted her off her feet once again, carrying her to the mattress and pushing her down onto her side on it; pressing his fingers into her hip firmly as if warning her to stay. 

 

He disappeared from her line of her vision as he walked away from her, yet the dipping of the bed behind her let (Y/N) he didn't leave the room as she hoped. 

 

His body heat seeped into hers as he curled his large frame around her, a heavy leg thrown over hers as his arm came back to her stomach; his palm warming the soft flesh of her belly. Encasing her against him, disillusioning any plans she was thinking to escape. 

 

His fingers jerked against her abdomen in awkward strokes of comfort as he tried to lure her to sleep; feeling a sharp stab of overwhelming joy he hasn't felt since he was an infant. Knowing that this is the beginning of forever.

 

“Sleep…” he commanded in his broken, slow tone; making her startle at hearing him speak another word in her presence. 

 

Out of terror and exhaustion, she struggled to do just that. But it was a fragile and twitchy slumber, feeling as if she was sleeping next to a spider. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it sort of comes off as if the reader has mutiple personalities or has voices in her head from how she interact with herself, but I don't know if this goes for everyone, but whenever I'm in a situation where I have to figure out the possible outcomes, I sort of have conversations with myself that come off snarky but well-intentioned, which usually gets me through the problem.  
> She also acts quite erratically in this chapter then in previous ones when she was stoic and calm because I feel like she was going through quite a bit of shock, since she was kidnapped and witness several people being murdered, not to mention suffered a head injury. She still managed to pull herself out long enough to manipulate Thomas into not killing her, by using his own words against her. She did manage to slip back into her shocked state when he took her up to his room and take her a bath, which explains why she easily gave in to his commands when he stripped her and gave her a bed. 
> 
> But in no way this means she's going to be so passive and willing the whole time there. When the numbness finally fades away, she'll go back to her cunning self that we all know and love. The biggest question is, will Hoyt and Luda Mae pick up on this soon? 
> 
> I'm sorry for the long author notes, I just really want to explain this chapters better is all! If you guys have any questions, by all means, ask away!
> 
> Anywho, Happy Late Holidays and speak to you all next year! See ya!


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